“Robert!” she called, as loud as she could.
She began to run toward him but only managed two steps before she slipped and landed in the mud. With a great splash, she landed on all fours, her hands disappearing in the muck, and the rain drumming on her back. Suddenly there were a pair of boots in front of her face.
“Gwen!” Robert yelled. Despite her predicament, she almost wept with joy at the sound of his voice. She felt his strong arms around her waist as he lifted her to her feet. “Are you all right? What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you!”
He hauled her into the stable and out of the blasted rain, where she took a moment to catch her breath and push her sodden hair out of her face.
“What are you doing out here?” she gasped. “The hall is empty.”
“I know,” he said. “I came to check that there was still a horse. The stable door had been left open, but we still have your horse and rig.”
A sharp whinny punctuated his sentence, and she whirled to see her own mare, but the beast had a wild look in its eye.
“Gwen!” he cried out as he wrenched her to one side. In just the span of a breath, he’d interposed himself between her and the frightened horse. “Easy girl,” he called out to the skittery animal, and held up his hands. “Easy now.”
He seemed to be successfully herding her toward a stall when another bolt of lightning flashed outside. As the frightened mare leapt for the door, he flung himself at the opening and just managed to get it closed before she escaped. The animal reared up at the last second, kicking furiously. Though Robert nimbly jumped aside, as the mare came back down, one of her hooves caught his foot.
“Robert!” Gwen screamed.
Somehow her voice must have cut through the roar of the tempest, for the mare seemed to recognize it, turning toward her. Robert capitalized on the moment and, with a great shove, pushed the horse into the nearest stall, slamming the gate behind her.
“Gods,” he muttered as he leaned back against the short wood door, and favored his injured foot.
“Are you hurt?” she said, running to him. “Is your foot broken?”
“It’s my ankle,” he said grimacing. “But I don’t think it’s broken.”
She put her shoulder under his arm. “Do you think you can walk?”
“I must try,” he said, and then took a faltering, heavy step. It seemed as though the ankle couldn’t support much weight at all.
She pulled his arm around her neck. “You must lean on me, Robert. It’s the only way we’ll get back to the house.”
“I fear you’re right, dear Gwen,” he said. “Nor do I think we can wait out this storm. While your mare will survive the chill, as rain-soaked as we are, we wouldn’t make it half the day.”
She nodded and tried to take more of his weight. “Then there’s nothing for it.”
As he limped and she staggered under his sizeable frame, they lurched to the stable door and managed to open it. Once through, the gale almost tore the door from their hands, but leaning into it with all their might, they shut and barred it.
“Good girl,” he yelled above the wind and pelting rain. “We’re halfway there now.”
If only that were true, Gwen thought, saving her breath for the arduous walk. But step by heavy step, she steered them around the slippery mud and still growing puddles.
“Not quite the morning walk we usually enjoy,” he said, breathing heavily.
As the entry to the hall finally came into sight, Gwen could hardly believe how utterly glad she was to see it. Her legs burned with the effort to support both their weights. Her arms ached and trembled from holding on to him so tightly. But finally, after what seemed to her like an eternity, they reached the house.
Slowly they lumbered up the steps, as Robert resorted to hopping on one leg for the last few. As they crossed the threshold, they collapsed together in a soggy heap, just inside the entry on the floor.
As the two of them stared at one another, open-mouthed and bedraggled, Gwen had to stifle a laugh. For no reason that she could fathom, she felt the impulse to giggle. Outside a storm and rampaging horse had nearly claimed their lives. Inside, they’d been deserted sometime in the night. With nothing else to do and no one to see them, Gwen suddenly felt light, as though a burden had been lifted.
She pushed herself up from the floor so she could at least sit. “You are a mess, Mr. Sheraton,” she said, looking down at him and beginning to laugh.
At first he looked puzzled, but then the corner of his mouth crooked up in a half-grin. “Indeed.” He sat up next to her and eyed her dress, particularly the thick coating of mud that clung to it. “And you, Miss Archer, are making a mess of the floor with that ruined dress of yours.”
“I never liked it anyway,” she said, prompting them both to erupt with laughter, just as another peal of thunder boomed, sending them into paroxysms.
As their mirth finally subsided, he took her hand. “Well I must confess that this dress is my favorite. The blue contrasts so nicely with your green eyes.” Slowly he bent his head over her hand, and his lips lightly brushed her skin.
A flush of heat suffused her and the image from her dream flashed into her head.
“Robert,” she said softly. As he looked up into her face, she knew it must be crimson from the warmth radiating from it.
“Gwen,” he said, leaning in so close that she could smell the fresh scent of rain in his hair. Startled, she realized that his eyes were not pure black. How had she never noticed the tiny flecks of hazel in them? As his face drew slowly closer, she could feel his soft breath on her lips. If he was going to kiss her it would have to be soon—before she melted.
“Sir!” came a voice from behind them. “Miss! I thought you’d gone.”
* * *
Relief washed over Parks as he ran down the entry hall. “I thought I was alone, sir.” He bent to help up the master, who seemed to be having trouble standing. “Sir, you’re hurt and…” He dried off his hands on his coat. “…soaking wet.”
“It’s a long story, Parks,” Mr. Sheraton replied, “but I daresay we’re quite glad to see you here.” He reached toward Miss Archer. “Give me a hand.”
Together they helped Miss Archer to stand. “Miss, you’ll catch your death in these sodden clothes.”
Though she’d been gazing into the master’s eyes, she looked down at her spoiled dress and grimaced. “It is rather waterlogged.”
“He’s right, Gwen,” Mr. Sheraton said, still holding her hand. “Do go up and change. I shan’t be far behind.”
Although she looked for a moment as though she might protest, she nodded her assent and made for the stairs with sloshing steps.
When the mistress was safely out of earshot, the master turned to him. “Where is everyone, Parks? I had to close the stable myself this morning and our horses are gone. Only Miss Archer’s mare remains.”
He wasn’t quite sure how to put this. “The, uh, servants, sir. Well, they’ve…”
The master put his hands on his hips. “I can see the hall is empty, so out with it, man. What has happened?”
“They’ve quit, sir.”
“Quit?” the master asked, his voice incredulous. “All of them? At once?”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid so, sir.” Parks waited for a response, and felt like he had to continue when none came. “It’s just that…the investigations, sir. They’ve come up blank. No one can figure out how the chandelier and the chair became broken. And with Frances falling down the stairs and all…”
“I see,” said the young master. Then to Parks’ surprise, his countenance cleared. “I suppose it’s to be expected really.”
Emboldened by his reaction, Parks ventured the one thought that truly plagued him. “Perhaps Miss Gwen is right, sir. Perhaps Dredthorne is haunted, and something means to harm us.”
“Do you really believe that?” Mr. Sheraton asked quietly, searching his face.
Parks lifted his hands. �
��Well, sir, it’s just that I don’t have a better explanation.” There was the plain truth of it. He had never been a man prone to beliefs in the supernatural, in stories of ghosts and bogey men. But what other explanation did they have?
“In your time with the family, have you ever heard of anything of the like before?” Mr. Sheraton asked.
Parks nodded. “Not these exact circumstances, no, sir. But strange things? Yes, sir. About ten years ago, we had an entire herd of horses stampede. They broke down the fence, flew to the marshes and got stuck and drowned. No one knew why. Then a carriage wheel collapsed, also without reason. The madam of the house suffered fractured ribs. Agnes twisted her knee climbing on a step stool to put away a tureen. Pots of honey disappear, servants hear voices. Strange things have always happened at Dredthorne, but–”
“Well I’d hardly characterize a stampede of frightened beasts and a carriage accident in the same category.”
Parks ducked his head. “You did ask, sir.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Sheraton said quickly. “Look, I think I’m going to need a cane for this twisted ankle of mine. Help me to the medical supply closet.”
As Parks supported him under the shoulder and they made their way down the hallway, Mr. Sheraton asked, “Why did you stay, Parks?”
“I’ve served the Sheraton family all my life, sir,” Parks told him. “I’d no sooner desert it than my own.”
Not all household servants prized loyalty to the family—particularly not the younger generation—it was only too true. Their current situation spoke to the very fact. Although he didn’t say it, Parks also had his pride. He could hardly think himself a man if Miss Archer stayed at Dredthorne while he ran away.
“Thank you, Parks,” Mr. Sheraton replied. “I won’t forget that.” They reached the door to the supply closet and the master opened it. “Ah, here we are at last.”
Inside were shelves of bandaging, metal basins, and glass bottles with labels that were faded but still legible. But in the corner, the master spied a cane.
“Yes,” Mr. Sheraton declared, testing his weight on it. “This will do well.” He clapped Parks on the shoulder. “Good man. My thanks again.”
As Parks shut the door, he glanced at the master over his shoulder. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir. There’s no need to thank me just yet, on account of the fact that I can’t cook without burning water.”
As they walked side by side, back the way they came, Mr. Sheraton leaned heavily on the cane. “I see. So you’re telling me that Miss Archer and I will have to fend for ourselves.”
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid so, sir.”
Chapter 8
As Gwen changed out of her sodden and filthy garments, she couldn’t help but think that, if Parks hadn’t interrupted them, Robert would have kissed her—and she would have let him. What a turnabout the years had brought. She thought suddenly of another rainy day, when she’d been only sixteen. A very different Robert Sheraton had made his feelings clear.
Gwen sat on the back patio of the Sheraton estate with her sister, Regina, as their parents discussed something of grave importance inside. Regina was laughing as she chattered on and on with Christopher, who had brought her a small bouquet of daisies. Gwen sat nearby with a large tome that she couldn’t for the life of her focus on—especially when Robert joined them.
She had never met someone quite like Robert Sheraton. He was slightly older than her, and very attractive with his jet black hair and mysterious dark eyes. But more than that, he exuded an air of quiet certainty, as if he already knew his path in life. Perhaps it was to be expected as he was the older of the two brothers. In some sense, his role was decided.
He sat on a bench at the edge of the patio with his own book, while Regina giggled with Christopher. As Gwen idly flipped the pages of her volume, she watched Robert out of the corner of her eye. He seemed genuinely fascinated with what he was reading until he apparently felt her eyes on him.
“May I help you, Miss Archer?” he said, his reproachful tone drawing everyone’s attention.
The heat in Gwen’s cheeks told her that she must be blushing, but she wasn’t going to simply let his remark go unanswered.
“I was just wondering what…you are reading,” she said, nearly cringing at her own words.
“Were you indeed,” he retorted. He showed her the volume of Sir Walter Scott’s poems from her father’s library. “Here,” he said, “let me quote a particularly apt section to you.” Glancing down at the page, he put his finger on a certain line. “Oh! What a tangled web we weave, When first we practice to deceive!”
When Regina tittered, Gwen glared at her, before slamming her book shut, and marching indoors.
Even now, the embarrassment of that long ago moment colored Gwen’s cheeks. He’d seemed to her unreservedly haughty and quite mean. In the intervening years, she’d convinced herself of it.
But now—she glanced at the ruined dress on the floor—she had to wonder.
* * *
Though it was good to get into a set of dry clothes, Robert didn’t relish confronting the grim truth with Gwen. She’d been marvelous out in the storm, if a bit reckless, and he’d come very close to kissing her. If he wasn’t mistaken, she’d even been amenable to it. But the perfect moment had been lost and the heavy responsibilities of his family, and now the entire hall, had returned and settled him back to the earth.
When he checked her chambers and found them empty, he used his cane to proceed down to the secret library that had seemingly become a second home to her. But to his surprise, she wasn’t there. Even more disconcerting was the smell of food coming from the kitchen. Though he’d half-expected to find Parks there, despite what the man had said, he could scarce believe he saw Gwen at the stove. Over her white dress, she wore the cook’s apron, and stood in front of two large iron skillets.
“Gwen,” he exclaimed. “You cook?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said over her shoulder. “As you can see.”
In one skillet she was frying bacon and in the other eggs, though none of the yolks remained whole, and the bacon had burnt on one side.
“Let me help,” he said, taking down a large fork hanging from a hook. “I’ll flip the bacon.”
“I’m afraid I’ve built the fire unevenly and the pan is too hot in the middle,” she pointed out.
As she stepped aside to attend to the eggs, he used the fork to turn the thick cuts of back bacon, only to find himself instantly splattered with grease.
“Perhaps we should switch,” she suggested. “I have the apron.” As they did, he felt the light brush of her dress across his legs. “Where is Parks?” she asked.
“I’ve asked him to chip away the fractured portions of that stair step,” he said, and then paused. “Did he tell you that the rest of the servants have deserted?”
She began to plate the eggs on an oval silver platter. “No, but it didn’t take much guessing on my part to come to that conclusion.” She put a few eggs and slices of the meat on a separate plate. “We’ll save some for him.”
“Well,” Robert said, as they took their food to the makeshift table in the living room, “it’s very good of you to do this.” He rested the cane against an empty chair and held her seat for her.
She smiled up at him as she sat. “I was hungry.”
For several minutes they devoured their simple meal in silence. In fact, Robert couldn’t remember the last time he’d had eggs or bacon that he’d enjoyed so much. He poured two cups of tea from the china pot that was already on the table.
“Look, Gwen,” he finally said. “I can’t leave Dredthorne in case Christopher should arrive. There’s no point in me returning to London to conduct a search from there. I must stay until this matter is closed.” He looked directly into her light green eyes, distracted for a moment before he could continue. “But you should return to Renwick. Without servants, there’ll only be more hardships.”
When she’d finished sipping he
r tea, she set it down with purpose. “I’m not leaving,” she said simply, but firmly. “Regina is still missing as well. As you can see,” she indicated their empty plates with her eyes, “I can manage well enough. Because my father is not able to keep as many servants as Dredthorne has—or had—I have learned a few of the domestic skills of necessity.”
He looked at her with a renewed sense of wonder. “Is there anything that you cannot do? Any situation you cannot remedy?”
She blushed a little, flushing her cheeks with a most attractive shade of pink. “If I could bring our siblings to us, I would,” she said. “But since I can’t, we must make our wait as pleasant as may be. I’ll look into the house records and make a plan for Parks to go down into the village. Though rumors of the doings here at the hall may preclude our finding servants there, we might send word to London.”
Something in the tone of her voice, and her easy determination, spoke volumes of what her home life must have been. She was in her element, he decided, and clearly relished it.
Despite his aching ankle and the storm just now waning outside, he found himself relaxing for the first time in days. It was as though the extra responsibilities thrust upon them buoyed her up.
It also occurred to him that the new chores left no time to muse on malevolent spirits. But at any rate, she was right. As long as they continued to wait for his brother and her sister, or at least receive word from them, they should make their stay as pleasant as was possible.
Chapter 9
Though it had taken hours of wading through Dredthorne Hall’s payroll registers, Gwen had compiled a list of the servants that it typically employed. First came the steward to look after Robert and manage all the other servants. Clearly this was a role that Parks could fulfill. Under him, the butler was the head of the male servants, while the housekeeper supervised the women. Below them came valets and lady’s maids. Gwen’s heart had to clench at the thought of Frances’ fate. But more important than any of those positions, they needed a cook. That was to be Parks’ first priority, something on which they’d all agreed. The footmen as well as the chamber, kitchen, and scullery maids could all wait, as could the outdoor staff.
Mistress of Darkness: Dredthorne Hall Book 2 Page 6
