Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8)

by Lancaster, Mary

  “Well, as to that—” Cook began.

  Caroline hurried toward the stairs. “I’m very glad to have met you, Mrs. Smith. Thank you for the delicious breakfast. I’d better hurry and meet Miss Rosa.”

  She found her own way to the side door and was tying her bonnet when Rosa and Tiny came flying around the corner. Although Caroline held her breath, no uneven footsteps followed them. Only as they returned from their short walk, did she catch a glimpse of her employer, and that was when Rosa waved up at one of the windows of the house. A dark shadowy figure moved away, just as Caroline glanced up.

  “Was that your father?” she asked, and the girl nodded happily. “Well, he will expect us to do some work. So, let us go and begin.”

  *

  “Write about your family and your home, so that I might know them as well as you do.” Caroline generally began her first lesson with new pupils in this way. She found it a useful gauge to a child’s skill with the English language as well as other areas of necessary education. Besides which, it provided her with useful clues about the new family she was working for.

  In Rosa’s case, she was conscious of a too-urgent desire to know more, and not just to discover if Cook could be right in her speculations. She wanted to know about Mr. Benedict for his own good. And the lady who’d thrown the cake at him. And she didn’t want rumor and superstition. She wanted truth.

  While Rosa wrote, Caroline continued looking at her previous work, and discovered her pupil to be good at sketching and painting. One notebook was filled with colored pictures of leaves, flowers, and descriptions, complete with Latin and common names.

  “Who taught you this?” Caroline asked when Rosa brought her work over.

  Rosa smiled and pointed to the essay she’d just written. In particular, she pointed to the first paragraph which she’d titled: My Father, Javan Benedict.

  “Your father teaches you botany?” Caroline said in surprise, and when the girl nodded, Caroline smiled. “It is beautifully done. Now, let me see your new work.”

  Rosa released it to her but made urgent eating motions with her hand.

  Caroline glanced at the watch she had pinned to her gown. “Is it time for luncheon already? You had better run and wash your hands.”

  While Rosa ran off to obey, Caroline glanced quickly at the essay. The second paragraph was My Aunt, Marjorie Benedict.

  “Ha,” Caroline said aloud with triumph, before the third paragraph caught her attention. My Governess, Miss Grey. Miss Grey’s services have been kindly lent to us by the Earl of Braithwaite, who lives in the castle. She is kind, clever, and pretty. Both my father and I like her because her eyes laugh, though they don’t always. Sometimes I think she might be sadder than she seems, but I hope she is not unhappy to be at Haven Hall.

  Caroline shifted uncomfortably. Was it not speaking that made the child so perceptive? Rosa went on to talk about the servants, including the manservant Williams, whom she called her father’s valet who came home with her father and takes care of everything for us.

  Came home with him… a curious turn of phrase.

  Nan, Mrs. Smith, and the other servants were all listed as people who looked after the family. Even Tiny had his own, disproportionately long paragraph. Well, there were more funny stories to tell about him than about anyone else.

  But it was an odd household that had no housekeeper and no butler. She had never heard of a valet being in charge of the servants before.

  Smiling, Caroline returned to the beginning, to the passage about Mr. Benedict. She felt strange reading this, as though she were prying. Papa is very good and strong and protects me, even when he is convalescing. He is also very clever and always wins at jackstraws. He can make anything funny and he understands everything.

  Caroline frowned. These lines seemed to throw up more questions than they answered. Protects me… Why did Rosa imagine she needed protection? Was it just a child feeling safe with her father? A word he’d said, perhaps, when she was afraid of monsters under the bed—Don’t worry, nothing can harm you, I will protect you? He had sat by her bed last night until she was asleep.

  And what was it, exactly, that he understood? Why Rosa didn’t speak? Or was she simply a child in awe of her omnipotent father’s cleverness?

  On top of all that, most people would probably have struggled with the idea of the harsh-faced, taciturn Benedict making everything funny…

  Hastily, Caroline set the notebook aside and hurried to wash her hands for luncheon.

  When she entered the dining room, Rosa and her father were already there. Mr. Benedict stood and, to her surprise, held her chair for her to sit.

  “Forgive my tardiness,” she apologized. “I got caught up reading Rosa’s work of this morning. You are very observant and articulate, Rosa. I feel I know everyone so much better now.”

  Rosa beamed under the praise. Caroline felt Mr. Benedict’s gaze burning into her face, but she concentrated on Rosa and her food.

  “Rosa, do you play the pianoforte? Or any other musical instrument?”

  Rosa’s eyes widened. She shook her head vigorously.

  “Is there such a thing in the house, sir?” Caroline asked, braving the harsh gaze.

  “There’s a pianoforte in the ante-room off the drawing room,” he said with odd reluctance. “Why? Do you play?”

  “Adequately enough to teach Rosa. It is a necessary accomplishment for a young lady.”

  His lips twisted. “Of course. It’s under Holland covers and I’ve no idea what state it’s in but make free with it by all means. Williams will help you if you need to move it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you tune it as well?” he asked with false civility.

  “Enough to erase the worst faults,” she replied calmly. “If you have the correct tools. But there is a piano tuner in Blackhaven, a retired musician, whom Lady Braithwaite called upon.”

  Benedict shifted his gaze to his daughter. “Do you wish to learn?”

  For some reason, Rosa hesitated, then nodded.

  Mr. Benedict shrugged. “Then by all means, try it. Tell me if it needs even greater skills than you possess.”

  It felt like a small victory.

  When she had eaten her fill, Rosa again caught her attention, spread her fingers on an imaginary keyboard, and wiggled them.

  “Later,” Caroline said. “First, arithmetic.”

  Rosa wrinkled her nose.

  “Go up to the schoolroom and find for me the most difficult calculations you’ve completed. I will be up directly, after I’ve spoken to your father.”

  “You have work for me, too?” Benedict drawled, making Rosa grin over her shoulder before she ran off.

  “Would you do it if I had?” she retorted.

  He laughed. “I might. I just might.”

  “I shall bear it in mind,” she said wryly. “For now, I merely wished to talk to you about Rosa’s speech. Or lack of it.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was wondering…has she ever slipped up and let a word fall? Does she ever laugh or cry aloud?”

  His face remained impassive. “Nothing more than a guttural…growl for want of a better word, and that only when something has startled or frightened her. In the year since I have been home, I have never heard her utter a word. Why?”

  “She is very articulate on paper. She reads and thinks and observes in words. I am at a loss as to why she won’t say them. Is it grief over her mother’s death or illness?”

  “She’d stopped talking nearly a year before my wife died. I found her like this when I came home.”

  Caroline frowned, deep in thought. “And could your wife offer no insight?”

  “None that she shared with me. With respect, Miss Grey, your task is to teach her. For the rest, we have doctors.”

  “But you said it was not a medical problem,” Caroline pointed out. “And as for teaching, I would be failing in my duties if I didn’t at least try to teach her to speak again.”
>
  “In the one week or two which you have allotted to us?” he retorted.

  Caroline flushed. “I always work to the best of my ability. Should I have a scale of effort to match the time I spend with my pupils?”

  She knew, as the words spilled out, that it was insolence. As his eyebrows flew up, she bit her lip, waiting to be dismissed—from the room at the very least. But again, he surprised her.

  “I’ve hurt your feelings. I apologize,” he said curtly. “If you can make her speak, we would both be forever in your debt. I merely doubt the possibility. However, if you are asking for my permission to try, you have it, on condition you say or do nothing to upset her or hurt her.”

  “I agree, of course,” Caroline said at once. “Which is why I was asking for some clue as to the circumstances. I don’t wish to say anything to upset her, or subject her to any hurtful influence.”

  “If I knew the circumstances, I would tell you. As I said, I was away at the time. Neither my wife nor the servants could elucidate.”

  “The servants here were with her at the time?”

  He nodded. “Except for Williams. And the cook.”

  Of course, Williams, as his valet, would have been with him, wherever he was.

  Caroline nodded thoughtfully and rose to her feet. “Thank you,” she said, walking away.

  Civilly, he rose with her. On impulse, realizing it must have seemed an abrupt departure, she glanced back over her shoulder. He was watching her, his eyes alight with amusement and something vaguely predatory that reminded her of last night’s encounter at her bedchamber door.

  Chapter Four

  The following evening, while Mr. Benedict sat with Rosa in her chamber, Caroline took a candle and went to the library. She went partly to find a new book to read, and partly to avoid the strange bated breath with which she seemed to await Mr. Benedict’s departure from his daughter’s room. Shut up in the library, she would not hear his uneven footsteps or imagine his hand raised to knock at her door.

  She found the library, a rather dusty room with a large and ancient fireplace, in total darkness. By the light of her own candle, she discovered others and lit them from hers. She carried one with her as she prowled along the book-lined walls, examining titles and occasionally kneeling on the floor with a book to look further.

  Overall, it was a motley collection, with nothing about plants that she could discover, so she doubted they were Benedict’s books. It must have belonged to the house’s owners, the tragic Gardyn family whose last heir had vanished as a child. Most people believed she was dead, but without proof, the estate was apparently kept in trust for her by distant family.

  Caroline hated to think of dead or frightened children, so she hastily plucked a novel off the shelf to distract herself and went to the window seat to read. Neither the shutters nor the curtains had been drawn, so although it was rather chilly without a fire, she could press her back to the wall and occasionally glance up from her book to the dark, starkly beautiful scenery that surrounded the hall. All that was missing was the sea. At Braithwaite Castle, you could see the water from almost every side.

  She allowed herself a moment to think of the Braithwaite girls and miss them. But since sentiment achieved nothing, she concentrated determinedly on Pamela.

  Soft, uneven footsteps passed the library and hurried down the stairs. Mr. Benedict, no doubt, going back to his study instead of to his bedchamber. Even here, she was aware of his movements.

  Drawing the shawl tighter around her, she read on. Another ten minutes and she would return to her cozy bedchamber.

  Without warning, the library door banged shut.

  Caroline jumped, dropping the book, which tumbled onto the floor. How had the door banged? She’d closed it when she’d come in. She rose, picked up the book, and hastened to the door. Pulling it open, she gazed onto the dark landing. A light shone under the drawing room door, and she had just taken a step toward it when she glimpsed something from the corner of her eye, something flitting silently past at the foot of the stairs.

  Uneasily, she relit her candle and walked downstairs to investigate. But before she was half way down, a strange, unearthly howl filled her ears, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. It didn’t sound like the same crying she’d heard emanating from Miss Benedict’s room. It seemed to come from downstairs, though she supposed Miss Benedict could move around the house if she chose. Unless Betty Smith was right that Javan Benedict locked her in.

  This was a truly bizarre household.

  The howl came again, more distant. Her curiosity thoroughly aroused—along with a desire to make it stop in case it woke and frightened Rosa—she ran the rest of the way downstairs, following what she thought was the direction of the noise, across the entrance hall to the passage that led to the side door and the study beyond.

  Rounding the corner at full tilt, she ran up against something—someone—hurtling in the opposite direction. She gasped in shock as hands seized her by the shoulders and her candle wobbled precariously, it’s flame flickering wildly over the face of her assailant. Javan Benedict.

  Fortunately, he looked as stunned as she. “Miss Grey!” he exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing?”

  “I heard something, a howling,” she blurted. “I thought it came from this direction.”

  “And I from the other,” he said ruefully. He didn’t seem to be aware he still held her by the shoulders, the candle squashed dangerously between them. “The layout of this house seems to bounce sound so that you cannot locate it. Where were you?”

  “I was in the library and the door banged. I came out to investigate and I thought I saw something downstairs, and then I heard the howling.”

  “The library door?” he repeated. “That’s interesting.” He released her without apology and took the candle from her before striding on down the passage back to the entrance hall.

  Since she didn’t know what else to do, she trotted after him. At last, as they crossed the hall, she said, low, “Why is the library interesting?”

  She froze as he whipped around and thrust one finger over her lips. Although quite clearly a demand for silence—and an irritable one at that—his touch seemed to fizz through her. It only lasted a moment, though, for a knocking sound above was swiftly followed by a most horrible screeching and clanking. Like the clanking chains she’d heard tell of Blackhaven. A shudder ran through her.

  Forgetting about silence, Benedict broke into a run, taking the stairs three at a time, while Caroline hurried after him. She held onto the bannister as a guide, since she could barely make out any of the bouncing light carried by her employer.

  He threw open the library door, allowing some of the light from there to spill out. Relieved, Caroline ran up the last couple of steps and followed him inside. Apart from Mr. Benedict, the room was empty. He stood in the middle, slowly turning to peer into every corner.

  “The library is interesting,” he said without interrupting his deliberate search, “because he has never been there before. Or at least made no noise there. It has always been on the ground floor.”

  “He?” she pounced. “Then someone was here?”

  “Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Grey?” he asked, blowing out her candle and setting it down on the table.

  “No.”

  “Neither do I. Therefore, I believe it was quite distinctly a live someone.”

  “Who?” she asked bewildered.

  “Someone who wants to frighten us away, I suspect, as they frightened previous tenants.”

  She searched his face and shivered. It was the intruder who should have been frightened. “You’re not afraid,” she observed.

  “No, but I won’t have him frightening Rosa, so I will put a stop to it.”

  “How often does this happen?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Several times within a couple of weeks when we first came. Lately, only once or twice a month. As if they lost heart because we didn’t immediately run but can’t qu
ite give up what worked so well for them in the past.”

  “Does Rosa hear the commotion?”

  “Not so far. It always happens around this time, when she is already asleep and fortunately, she sleeps deeply. Otherwise, I doubt we would still be here. He doesn’t go near people, even the servants, just makes noises from a distance. His aim is to scare not to harm.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  He shrugged. “One of the local well-to-do farmers who wants to buy up the hall and grounds cheaply. While the estate still makes money from the rent of the hall, the trustees are less likely to sell it. At least, that’s all I can think of. I’d suspect it was young boys out for a lark, except I’m fairly sure there’s only one of them.”

  “But how does he get in?” Caroline wondered.

  “Incisive as always,” Benedict said with unexpected approval. “I wondered if he might have an old key, but I had all the locks changed, and still he comes in. My money now is on some kind of secret passage. Do you know what I think?”

  She frowned, her breath catching with the possibility. “That the passage opens here in the library! No one uses this room. He came in earlier and tried to leave by the same means, only I was here and he rushed out in shock, letting the door bang behind him!” She frowned. “But the howling came after the door banged.”

  “Maybe this wasn’t a howling night,” he said flippantly. “Sometimes, he just moves things around. We find boots in the dining room, a fruit bowl on the hall stand, a painting on the wrong wall. I think he howled to get you out of the library so he could get in unobserved. He won’t have expected you to follow him, so I do hope you gave him a fright.”

  “So do I! Have you reported these intrusions to the magistrate?”

  “No, I couldn’t abide the fuss. I’ll deal with it myself.”

  “If you know who it is, perhaps you should call on him and make it clear you know. Frighten him.”

  “I tried that. I think it is Nairn’s son from White Farm. But old Nairn refused to take the hint. He denied it to my face, in fact, but he knew more than he pretended.”