by Cindy Anstey
Within a short space of time, the tension had eased enough that their dealings were reasonably amicable. Missteps, missed cues, muddles, and mayhem provided enough hilarity to distract everyone. Laughter abounded. The atmosphere inside was the antithesis of the storm outside. Even Percy came around when they started discussing props and costumes.
* * *
DESPITE THE CONTINUING RAIN, Ben unhooked the window latch and pushed the tower window open. At least the wind was coming from the other direction and not likely, hopefully, to pour into the room. The smell of must was just too strong for them to remain shuttered in the tower all night without some fresh air. The temperature of the gray stone room dropped precipitously, but the blankets on the bed looked ready to remedy any chill.
“Are you sure you will be all right?” Ben asked Matt as he hung up Ernest’s coat in the wardrobe. “In the stables?” He looked at the rough carpet in the sparsely furnished room. “I had hoped that there might be a place for you in here … but—”
“Not to worry, Mr. Ben. The men’s quarters are above the stables—they’re not putting me in the hayloft. Sharing with the Beeswangers’ valet. Nice fella. I’ll be just fine.” A slight frown creased across his brow. “I might be better off than you.”
Ernest snorted as he pulled off his neck-cloth. “It wouldn’t be hard.” He glanced at Ben. “Don’t you get tired of being right? It must be tedious.”
“To which aspect of this fiasco do you refer?” Ben dropped onto the bed to remove his boots; there was no chair beside the washstand … not even room for a chair. The mattress was lumpy, and the board beneath squeaked.
“I was speaking of the lack of accommodation—though, I would not call this a fiasco. Far from it. I grant you the welcome was a little frosty, but I believe we won the day. That was, in fact, the most entertaining evening we have had since we joined this traveling menagerie. A shame that the soprano Mr. Tabard had hired never showed, likely deterred by the storm, but there was enough easy conversation to compensate.”
“Humph,” Ben offered.
“Even Percy and Jake seemed to come around.”
“Yes, well. That was more a lowering of hackles than an out-and-out capitulation. I am not yet ready to let bygones be bygones. They have still to atone for their tomfoolery—that verged on nastiness—but it seemed politic to appear as if matters were resolved. Imogene looked quite anxious until I did.”
“Thank you, Ben … for putting Imogene’s emotional state ahead of your own. I do appreciate it.”
Ben winced and looked up at his brother, but Ernest had his head down, shucking off his waistcoat. Ben met Matt’s gaze instead. It said nothing and spoke volumes at the same time. Had Matt realized what Ernest had not, that Ben was besotted with Imogene? Ben looked away, not wanting to know the answer to that question.
“Yes, well. I’m not about to call them my friends, but we can certainly keep antagonism at bay … for now.”
“Excellent.”
By the time Matt had finished his duties and taken one of the candles away with him, Ben hunkered under the covers, listening to the rain, trying desperately not to think of Imogene. She had certainly changed from the appallingly shy young lady he had met in London. He had never seen her look so confident as she had ordering them about, calling out lines and stage directions. The penetrating stares she had fixed on him had set his heart to thrumming.… No. Stop. He was only making matters worse. Think of other things.
Emily had been rather charming. Lovely smile, slightly saucy expression. So different from Imogene. They were quite opposite in their natures. While Emily was confident, Imogene was hesitant. Though not as much as she had been.… No, no … he had circled back to a certain someone yet again.
Constant thoughts of someone kept drowsiness at bay. Even counting sheep did not help; the fence-jumping creatures gained Imogene-like qualities. A blond sheep here, a sheep smelling of roses there. Finally, he hit upon a distracting subject. Roof design. Yes, far more interesting than the color of someone’s eyes or hair or her gown or …
Gambrel, mansard, Dutch gable …
Ben was almost relieved to hear the start of a soft and low noise, like an echo of whispered indistinguishable words. It grew into a moan as the volume increased, came to a crescendo, and then faded, only to start again. It was rhythmic and constant and diverting. In no time at all, Ben’s eyelids became heavy, and with an amused smile, he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
GREYTOWER WAS POSSESSED of a long gallery lined with portraits of Tabard ancestors. It ran the length of the east wall next to the drawing room and offered a view of the front, side, and back of the house. It was somewhat chilly at either end due to a lack of proximity to the fireplace and the dampness of another rainy day. However, in the center, cozied up to the coals, the place became a snug little nest—which had nothing to do with Imogene’s presence.
“I like this one.” Ben passed a sketch to her from his folder. He had spent the entire time at Musson House drawing—to the point that his grandmother had asked him if he was ill; she was not used to such restrained behavior. “But these two … no, three. Here. I know something is wrong but not what.”
“This one is easy enough. Look at the angle of these two lines; they are supposed to be parallel, and yet—”
“Yes. Excellent, yes. I stared at it forever and a day and didn’t see. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” Imogene said with a warm smile. She lifted her head to stare back at him, and they continued to do so—locked in each other’s gaze—for several moments. While Ben would have been quite content to stay that way for an eternity or two, he could see that Imogene was starting to color up. He winked and lowered his eyes to the papers once again.
“Did you ask?” Emily asked as she walked through the door, directing her query toward Imogene.
“Ask what?” Ben frowned, watching Emily take the chair opposite in a graceful descent.
“Were you haunted last night?” She bounced her brows and grinned.
Snorting a laugh, Ben nodded. “It was a rather pathetic attempt, but it was amusing.”
“What was pathetic?”
Looking up at the door again, Ben sighed inwardly. Gone was his quiet time with Imogene. “Your haunting abilities,” Ben said to Jake … and Percy, who was at his side.
Moving to stand in front of the fire, Jake rubbed his hands. “Wasn’t me.” He chuckled and then looked over his shoulder at Percy. “We decided to wait. Give it a day or two.” Then turning toward Ben: “It seemed too obvious to try to scare you the very first day you took up residence.”
“Too obvious by far,” Ben agreed.
“It wasn’t me,” Percy said as he draped himself over the back of Imogene’s wingback chair. “Thought it best to regale you with a ghoulish tale or two first—a dismembered body hidden under the floorboards or some such. Build it up, lots of drama … and then scare the pants off you.”
Ben frowned. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Jake looked over Ben’s head. “You know, I believe this to be a better setting for our play. Yes, indeed. We could put chairs at that end, with the stage at the other. I think I have hit upon a most splendid idea. What think you, Imogene? Wouldn’t this work better than the music room?”
“Far better.” Clearly pleased at being consulted, Imogene stood with a smile, placing Ben’s sketches on the seat behind her. “I think the other way around might work better, though, as the door would be a perfect way for the actors to enter and exit the stage.” Leaving Ben still sitting, she wandered the room with Jake and Percy, discussing the ramifications of the setting.
“Is anything amiss?” Emily stared at him with a puckered brow.
“Do you believe Jake and Percy, in regard to haunting the tower room?”
“There was an odd tone of sincerity to their denials. Something I seldom hear.”
“Hmmm. I thought so, too.” He turned his gaze to the glowing embers of the fi
re.
“Why is that a problem?”
“Well, someone tried to scare us. Moaning and howling for several hours. And if it wasn’t Jake or Percy, who was it?”
“The ghost?” Emily said with a laugh.
“Since I don’t believe in its existence, I am going to have to look a little further.”
“To where?”
“That, my dear Emily, is the cause of my consternation. I know not.” Looking up from the fire, Ben noticed that Emily was reddening like a beet. “Are you well?” he asked.
“Yes, of course.” She swallowed. “I … I … I think I will ask Imogene if she has any ideas about our culprit.” And so saying, Emily stood, leaving Ben staring at the fire once again.
chapter 13
In which lamenting, ethereal creatures add to the mystery
“Excuse me, Jake, might I take Imogene away for a moment? We will be right back.” Emily held her hand out toward Imogene, taking her elbow.
Pulling Emily close, Imogene leaned toward her friend’s ear. “What—”
“Right back,” Emily called to the room, interrupting Imogene and pulling her through the door and into the corridor. She made a beeline for the large window seat on the stair landing between the ground and first floors, hauling Imogene behind her. Settling her Paris green skirts in an artful display, Emily pointed to the bench beside her.
Sitting as directed, Imogene bided her time—while her curiosity grew large.
“I am thrilled to pieces, Imogene.” Emily said in a whisper, glancing up and down the staircase. “I am having the hardest time not dancing a jig right here and now. Most unseemly, I know, but … but … well, I can hardly believe it. I have imagined it for so long, waited for a sign, and now … at last—”
Laughing softly, Imogene lifted her finger to her mouth. “Shhh. Calm, my friend. Breathe. Excellent. Now, tell me. Only slowly this time.”
“Oh, Imogene, Ben just gave me an indication of his feelings, his attachment to me. He called me his dear Emily.”
“Dear Emily?” Imogene blinked, remembering the warm look she and Ben had shared moments earlier. How was it possible? She swallowed, briefly closed her eyes, and lifted her cheeks into an inane smile—countermanded by a sharp shake of her head. The incongruity was lost on Emily, who had turned her gaze to the carpet.
Imogene was both baffled and frustrated. It would appear that she was entirely inept at understanding the meaning of a young gentleman’s glance.… But words, well, there was no misunderstanding them. “Ben said—”
“Dear Emily. Yes, my dear Emily.” Clasping her hands to her bodice, Emily lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “At last.”
“That is wonderful, Emily.” Imogene heard the waver in her voice and glanced over at her friend. Emily had not noticed.
“I know. We will be sisters after all!”
Imogene closed her eyes and felt the slow blanket of misery swaddle her entire body. “I don’t believe we will,” she said. “I know Ernest to be an admirable person, but alas, my heart is not affected. My appreciation for him is that of a friend, and no matter how I try to see him otherwise, I see only a friend.” The realization was as new to her as it was to Emily, but it felt right, true.
Imogene opened her eyes to find Emily staring at her.
“Oh, Imogene, I am sorry.”
“Strangely enough, so am I. Ernest is such a kind person; the very sort of husband I should be happy to call my own. And now … well, now I must disappoint him terribly.”
“When will you tell him?” There was an unnatural stillness to Emily’s shoulders.
“As soon as possible. It is not fair to string him along. Poor Ernest has been at my beck and call for long enough.”
“Could you wait, Imogene? Please?”
With a deeply entrenched brow, Imogene tipped her head, trying to understand.
“If you tell Ernest right away, they will leave. Ben will go. And … and he has only just come to realize … Please, Imogene, can you delay? Just for a day or two.”
“But, Emily, that’s not fair to Ernest.”
“Yes, it is true.… But … might you not use the time to prepare him? Hint to him that your attachment might not be what he had hoped for … make the blow a little softer by…”
“Preparing him?”
“Yes, exactly.” Emily beamed, not hearing the repetition of her own words. She reached over to hug Imogene.
Behind Emily’s back, Imogene swallowed and fought back tears. She didn’t know if the excessive emotion was the result of losing Ben or the thought of hurting Ernest. It hardly mattered.
* * *
AFTER HAVING HEARD Jake and Percy discuss at length how they might change a cold, somewhat drafty gallery into an enchanted forest, Ben considered taking his art lesson elsewhere. After all, he had lost his teacher. Scrubbing at his face and wishing himself back in Musson House, away from all intoxicating, lingering scents, Ben collected his papers and stuffed them back into his folder.
“Ready?”
Ben looked up to find Ernest staring down at him. “Ready for what?”
“To rehearse, of course. I was in the library when these fine ladies came to get me.” He smiled rather broadly and then stepped aside to allow Ben the sight of the bright, open expression of Emily and the serious countenance of Imogene. The second was rather worrisome, for Imogene’s seriousness held more than a hint of melancholy.
“Is all well?” he asked, and was reassured with a false smile and overly cheerful tone that it was.
Ben spent the hours before luncheon observing Imogene, trying to discern the reason for her disquiet. There was no outward show of bashfulness, and she did not refrain from expressing her opinion or calling out cues in regard to the play, but it was with a most lackluster timbre. She did stare and converse with Ernest far more than was her norm, but without any pleasure. Yes, that was the missing ingredient. There was absolutely no gladness in her—as if she were defeated, dejected, and beaten down.
No one seemed to notice.
Several times, he pointed out as much to Emily, who apparently needed to be at his elbow the entire rehearsal, and yet she merely laughed and said Imogene was tired.
With a quick luncheon, the afternoon was spent the same as the morning. The rehearsal went well; so much so that it was thought the performance could take place in another day, perhaps two. Of all the actors, Ernest had the most difficulty with his lines, which was not to be wondered at. His brother had never aspired to the stage. The jibes from Percy were now few and seemed more rote than venomous. Jake desisted completely. And yet the hilarity was not as unfettered as it had been.
At dinner, Ben watched Imogene offer Ernest far more attention than she had previously. Any passing comment that might be considered critical to his person would see Imogene leap to his defense, invariably followed by a wistful smile.
Ben pondered a tragic possibility. Had Imogene capitulated to her father’s demands without returning Ernest’s regard? If that were the case, it would be a misfortune for them both—for them all. Her melancholy ate at Ben. His belly churned. Even the lemon ices held no appeal.
* * *
“I HAVE WON the day,” Ernest said, puffing up his chest, standing akimbo in the center of the tower room. “Imogene will soon give me leave to make my offer—perhaps as early as tomorrow. Did you see how she hung on my every word?” He reached over to Ben, slapping him on the shoulder. “It was worth the journey and the awkward greeting. All will be well.… All will be better than well.”
With a great grin that served only to increase Ben’s queasiness, Ernest turned to Matt. “There is no longer any doubt of her attachment.”
Looking nonplussed, Matt blinked. “Excellent, sir. Very glad to hear it.” He stood before the wardrobe hesitant, as if unsure of his role in this atmosphere of conflicting emotions. He had just raised his hand to take their coats when a knock sounded at the door.
Percy and Jake stood in the narrow corrid
or, gasping.
“Lud, that was a climb and a half.” Percy clutched at his neck-cloth dramatically. “Forget the ghost. No one should use this room on account of the stairs.” He tried to look around Matt, his head bobbing from side to side.
“Yes,” Matt said in a tone emulating the frostiest of butlers.
“Call off your man, Ernest,” came Jake’s disembodied voice.
“Thank you, Matt,” Ernest said, switching places with their valet. “To what do we owe this honor?”
Ben could hear the distrust in his brother’s voice, and, apparently, so could they.
“Well, we’re here to show you that while we might like a bit of fun…” Percy’s braying laugh delayed the rest of his explanation. “We are not liars. Wouldn’t care—or give you the time of day ordinarily—but it turns out that you are good company after all. So we are here to divest you of the suspicion that we were up haunting last night.”
“Haunting is the least of it.”
“Yes, yes, I know. The burr. We can say ‘not us’ only so many times. Perhaps if you accept our word about the haunting, you might be less inclined to lay blame over the burr.”
“There is no logic in that.”
Ben heard Jake huff. “Fine. Come, Percy, they don’t want to be convinced. Still see us as villains. Their loss.”
Ben chuckled. “Was that an attempt at acting or manipulation, Jake? Either way, it was poorly done.”
Jake’s head appeared over the shoulders of the two blocking the doorway. He grinned. “Can’t blame me for trying,” he called.
“May as well invite them in, Ernest. See what they have to say for themselves.” Ben took a few steps back so he could lean casually against the wall while providing more space for the intruders—now, their guests.
