Banished

by C. J. Archer

  "Did Malborough tell you why he came back to haunt us?" Langley asked, after dismissing the servants. "Did he want to punish us? Was he very mad?"

  "It's a curious situation," I said, frowning at my plate. I set down my cutlery, no longer hungry. "He had already crossed over, but had an opportunity to return."

  "Isn't that impossible? I admit to knowing little about spirits, and the laws that bind them, but I thought once they crossed they were gone."

  "It's what I've always thought too," I told him. "But Malborough proved otherwise. He claimed to have come back."

  "From where?" Hannah asked. "Beyond the waiting area?"

  I nodded. "The place he'd been sent to wasn't somewhere he wanted to return."

  Sylvia gave a little whimper and also set down her knife and fork.

  "Is he connected to the other spirits at the Tudor house?" Jack asked.

  I nodded. "It seems several spirits have returned after crossing over. The usual rules of haunting don't apply to them, and they can travel where they like and haunt anywhere. Malborough has already been to London, but chose to return here to Frakingham."

  "Why not the Tudor house?"

  "He didn't like the company."

  Hannah now set down her cutlery and pushed her plate away. "That implies that the ghosts at the Tudor house are even more dangerous than he was."

  "Hence the plate-throwing," Jack muttered.

  "They're from the same place that Malborough was sent by the administrators."

  "It's called Hell, Cara." Sylvia took up her knife and fork again and stabbed her fish. "You can say the word. I won't suffer from the vapors if I hear it."

  "Hell is just one name for it," Quin told her. "It goes by many names."

  "Have you been there?" Jack asked.

  Hannah gasped. "You can't ask that."

  He shrugged. "Why not? It's a perfectly good question. He does seem to have traveled extensively."

  "No," Quin said. His lips didn't curve up, but I could swear he found Jack's question amusing. "I've not been to Hell."

  How different was Hell to Purgatory? Going by the scars on Quin's back, I would say not very much.

  "I wonder if this is only happening at Harborough," I said in an attempt to steer the conversation to safer territory. "If spirits are manifesting all over the place, we're going to have quite a task to round them all up and send them back."

  "We haven't heard of any disturbances elsewhere," Jack said. "Not even from the other villages."

  "And there was nothing reported in London before I left. Not that I am aware, anyway."

  "That implies the portal has something to do with it," Langley said.

  "Aye." Quin nodded slowly, his attention focused on the door as if he expected spirits to wander in. "They must have come through it together."

  "How? Why?"

  "It must have been opened—"

  "Opened!" Sylvia cried, once more abandoning her food. "Who would do such a dangerous thing?"

  It was a question that no one could answer, but I had a rather insidious thought. Before I could put it into words, Quin spoke.

  "The spirits would have been called through the portal to this realm, either accidentally or on purpose. Both are possible, depending on the manner in which the portal was opened. As to why…" He shrugged and looked to me. "Cara, you have something to say?"

  "I have a dreadful feeling about this." I swallowed.

  "As do I," Jack ground out. Hannah rested her hand on his arm.

  Quin arched a brow at me. "The book has gone missing," I told him.

  "Missing!" He said something in French. My knowledge of that language was quite good, but I didn't understand it. Going by the vehement way he spat it out and Jack's blush, I guessed it to be something that shouldn't be repeated in front of ladies.

  A soft knock on the door announced the entrance of the footmen, come to remove our dishes and supply us with the main course. They rolled in a trolley laden with platters of roasted meats and vegetables that they proceeded to serve. Quin looked as if he would combust if they didn't leave soon.

  Once they wheeled the trolley out again, he ignored his food and turned to me. "We discovered it missing only a few days ago," I told him. "We think Myer hypnotized Samuel's lawyer to steal it."

  "Then we'll find Myer and threaten him until he returns it."

  Jack cleared his throat. "By threaten, you mean harm?" Quin leveled his gaze on Jack. "Thought so. I have no objections."

  "It might not be Myer," Hannah reminded her husband. "Faraday is the one who's missing. His disappearance at the same time as the book is too much of a coincidence for me."

  Quin's jaw hardened at the mention of Nathaniel. "I agree with Mrs. Langley."

  "Please, call me Hannah."

  "Hannah, I think you're right. It's likely Faraday took the book, came here and opened the portal."

  "Why would he do that?" I asked. "He has no reason."

  "That you know of."

  I shook my head. "I still think Myer is responsible. The fact that Samuel's lawyer was hypnotized is a dead giveaway."

  "Really, Cara." Sylvia clicked her tongue. "Do we have to use the word dead at the dinner table?"

  I rolled my eyes at Hannah and she smirked back. "My apologies, Sylvia. I'll keep such gruesome words for the drawing room instead."

  Sylvia narrowed her eyes, unsure whether I was teasing or not.

  "There is something else Cara hasn't mentioned," Langley said to Quin. "Lord Alwyn had to be hypnotized to stop him from causing problems for her family."

  "What kind of problems?" Quin asked me tightly.

  "He decided the book must be valuable, since so many people were after it," I said. "He wanted it back. When I refused, he said he would hurt one of my loved ones. I didn't give it to him, and as it turned out, I couldn't anyway."

  "He killed her father before Samuel could find him and hypnotize him into forgetting the whole thing." Sylvia was too intent on dissecting her beef to notice the effect her words had on Quin.

  His bright eyes searched my face, his brow plunged in concern. He rested his hand over mine, and it wasn't until that moment that I realized I was trembling. My tears hovered close. I hadn't cried since hearing of François's death. I had not loved him, hardly known him, and tears felt like a waste. But now, under Quin's scrutiny, I wanted to cry for the man who'd fathered me.

  He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. His fingers skimmed lightly down my bare arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The gesture was far too intimate for the dinner table, but I didn't care.

  Quin really was here with me again, and I would make the most of his presence.

  Mr. Langley cleared his throat and Quin let go. He concentrated on his food, but neither he nor I contributed to the rest of the conversation as the others tossed around their thoughts as to who had the book and why they'd used it to open the portal.

  I was restless for the remainder of the evening and was glad when everyone dispersed to their respective bedrooms for the night. My restlessness only increased, however. How could I sleep when he was just down the hall?

  I gave up trying when the distant chimes of the grandfather clock all the way downstairs announced midnight. I slipped out of bed and threw a wrap around my shoulders. I was beyond caring about propriety. Coy games would only waste the precious time we had together.

  The carpet along the hall deadened my footsteps. Even so, he wasn't surprised to see me when he opened the door upon my soft knock. Neither of us carried candles or lanterns, but I was close enough that I could make out the spark of interest in his eyes as his gaze swept over me.

  "You shouldn't be here." His low voice rumbled in his chest, but there was no anger in it.

  "I can't sleep. Nor can you, I see. May I come in?"

  He hesitated then opened the door wider and stepped aside. The guest bedroom was similar to my own, with a canopied four poster bed taking up most of the space, a deep
armchair positioned in the corner, a dressing table, and another small table and chair by the window. He closed the door, shutting out what little light had filtered through the window at the end of the hall.

  His silhouette moved to the mantel where he lit candles. They provided enough light for me to see him, and admire. He wore only his leather pants—no shirt—and his hair was a little messier than usual. The muscles in his shoulders bunched then relaxed before he turned to face me, hiding the scars on his back from view.

  I swallowed. It was easy to come to his room unannounced. Far harder to work up the courage to speak. All the questions I had for him simply vanished from my head and I was left with emotions rioting inside me.

  "Sit," he said, indicating the armchair.

  I did and he sat on the other chair. "At least you can sleep in a proper bed this time and not on a rollaway truckle."

  He looked to the bed. "I feel like I'm sinking when I lie on it."

  "They didn't have mattresses in your lifetime?"

  "Not on campaign. Most of my adult life has been spent fighting in one battle or another, far from home and a soft bed. It will take some getting used to."

  Here was another small piece of the Quin puzzle, albeit a tiny one. If he'd been away so much, who cared for his estate? How often had he seen his wife?

  I didn't want to throw those questions at him. It used to be easy to ask him things, only to have him bat them away without answering, but this time I couldn't. It felt too awkward between us.

  I searched for something else to talk about instead. "Thank you for your help at the ruins today. I'm sorry I wasn't very understanding about removing Malborough's soul. You're right in that he would have been difficult to pin down if he'd moved. You had to act immediately."

  "Destroying ghosts is harder for me than destroying demons. Demons are stronger, but at least I can see them."

  "I'll try to be more help next time and direct you."

  He nodded. "Tomorrow we'll travel to the other house and send the rest of the spirits back."

  Would it really end so quickly? Tomorrow seemed much too soon. I found myself hoping the spirits had dispersed further afield.

  "I'm sorry to hear of your father's death," he went on.

  "Thank you, but we weren't very close. I've seen very little of him in recent years." I bit my lip. He probably knew all of that. He'd once told me that he'd asked the administrators all about me and been given some details of my life.

  He tapped his thumb on his thigh and didn't meet my gaze. It would seem I wasn't the only one feeling awkward about this meeting. "I'm sorry Faraday has gone missing," he eventually said.

  "I do hope he's all right. Perhaps he simply decided to leave London. It isn't as if he needed to inform any of us of his plans."

  "That's not what I meant."

  I cocked an eyebrow. "Then what do you mean?" I didn't know why I asked—I knew exactly what he was implying.

  "He wished to court you. I thought perhaps you wished it too."

  "Don't be ridiculous," I blurted out. All my awkwardness suddenly vanished. I couldn't have him thinking that Nathaniel and I were lovers. "I don't want to be wooed by the likes of him, and I'm surprised that you think I do. Besides, I kissed you mere weeks ago, Quin. I am hardly the sort of girl that kisses other men so soon after such a profound experience."

  His eyes had grown wider and wider as I spoke, but now he leaned his elbows on his knees and lowered his head between his shoulders. Hair fell across his face, obscuring his eyes. He blew out a measured breath, then two more, before finally straightening. "Cara, I didn't expect to return here to you, and certainly not so quickly."

  I waited for him to go on, but it was some time before he continued.

  "I want to apologize for my lack of chivalry. I should not have taken advantage of your tender feelings."

  "My tender feelings? I seem to recall you having feelings for me too. At least, your kisses would imply as much."

  "My feelings are unimportant."

  "Why?"

  "Because dead men have no future in this realm, and dead men confined to Purgatory aren't allowed the freedom to feel. It's a luxury for others."

  "That may be the case, but you do feel, Quin. You feel and you want."

  "But I cannot have." His gaze arrowed into me, pinning me.

  My fingers curled around the armrests, digging into the thick brocade. I stared at him until he looked away and leaned forward on his elbows again. My heart kicked, restarting. I hadn’t been aware that it had stopped.

  "You should go," he said heavily. "Meeting like this is not helpful for either of us."

  I licked dry lips and willed him to look at me again, but he did not. "I…I came to ask you about those scars and how you got them. Will you tell me?"

  He shook his head. "There's nothing to say. I deserved them. You know why."

  My fingers clawed at the fabric as I pictured the scene. I shuddered and shut my eyes against the crack of the whip. The only way to banish it from my thoughts entirely was to talk about something else.

  "You're married." Perhaps it wasn't the wisest thing to bring up at that moment, but I could truly think of nothing else. The knowledge of him having a wife had been infused in my brain ever since learning about it. It would have come out eventually.

  At least it got him looking at me again. "How do you know?"

  "I read about you in one of Mr. Langley's history books on the crusades."

  He straightened, the movement slow, as if he were delaying his answer. "I was married, true. In another life."

  "Your only life."

  He conceded the point with a nod.

  "Her name was Maria," I said. "You wed when you were very young. Or young by our standards."

  "What else did your book tell you about her?" It was a simple enough question, but the steely edge to it was unmistakable.

  "Nothing. What was she like?" Did you love her?

  "I don't want to discuss her."

  I looked down at my hands. "I was only trying to understand you a little better. I'm sorry."

  "You won't understand me by asking questions about her any more than I will know you by asking about Faraday."

  "Oh. Right. I see." I think. Was he implying that he didn't love her? Or was I reading something into his words that wasn't there?

  I must have looked a little dumbfounded, because he chuckled. "What else did you learn about me from this book?"

  "That you were born in 1164 and died in Jaffa, during the third crusade. One of your brothers fought alongside you and also died in the Holy Land."

  I paused at Quin's flinch. His entire body seemed to tighten and twitch before relaxing again.

  "I'm sorry," I whispered. "That was callous of me. I shouldn't be speaking about your loved ones as if you'd simply left them behind in another country. They're—"

  "Dead. Aye, they are, and a long time ago. I don't wish to discuss them either. So what else did your book tell you?"

  I tried to think, but it wasn't easy. I was still reeling from the brisk dismissal of his family. "King Richard bestowed a knighthood on you and considered you a confidant."

  "We were friends."

  "You make it sound like an everyday thing to be friends with a king."

  He laughed. "Perhaps not quite friends, but we fought alongside one another and got drunk afterward. Many times."

  "Got drunk? And here I thought you slew dragons and rescued damsels in distress on your white stallion."

  He pulled a face. "Your book contains some errors if it stated that."

  I laughed until I had to wipe tears from my eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just a modern day fantasy. Reality must have been too gruesome for the storytellers. You'll find that medieval knights have been romanticized over the years. Quite a few ladies would swoon if they found out what you were."

  "Is swooning a good thing?"

  "Only if you're there to catch them, otherwise it's a wasted effort."

 
He smiled. "Do you swoon?"

  "Never."

  "So now you know about my life. What else did the book say?"

  "That's all. I do plan on reading it further, just to learn about the crusades themselves. My history of the era is sketchy."

  "Perhaps I should read it too. I might learn something."

  I grinned. "Thank you, Quin, for not getting mad at me."

  "I admit it feels strange that you know these facts about me, but it's only fair since I know so much about you."

  "That's what I told myself when I tried to justify it. And I didn't learn much anyway. I still have so many questions."

  "Save them for another time. You should go back to bed. We'll both need our wits about us tomorrow." He stood, dismissing me.

  I stood too. On impulse, I kissed my fingertips then touched them to his cheek. "Good night, Quin."

  "Good night, Cara."

  ***

  "You're not coming." It was the third time Jack had said it to Hannah since we'd arrived in the dining room for breakfast.

  She regarded her husband over the rim of her teacup. "Why not? Give me a good reason." At least it was a different response to "Yes, I am" which she'd given twice already.

  "It's too dangerous."

  "I'll remain in the coach."

  Jack slathered butter on his toast then lifted it to his mouth. "Still too dangerous." He took a large bite, his gaze on his wife the entire time.

  "I might be of some assistance."

  He swallowed. "From the coach?"

  She set her teacup down with a loud clank in the saucer. I concentrated on cracking the top of my boiled egg and pretended I couldn't hear them squabbling. It made me uncomfortable. Jack and Hannah were like Emily and Jacob, one of those rare couples with the perfect synchronicity of a Swiss clock. I hoped Jack knew that he shouldn't stifle such a vibrant spirit as Hannah. Although I did agree with him that she should stay out of danger, I suspected she was only insisting as a kind of test, to see where his boundaries lay.

  "Would you prefer that I sit here and sew all day?"

  "What's wrong with sewing?" Sylvia asked. She'd been silently tucking in to her bacon and eggs, and I'd thought she hadn't been listening. Her gaze had been on Tommy the entire time as he rearranged the way the sideboard was set up with our food. Although the footmen had brought the dishes in then left, Tommy had remained. He'd taken one look at the sideboard, shaken his head, and had been moving things ever since.