by Clee, Adele
“Miss Julianna was like a daughter to me all those years ago.” Mrs Hendrie’s affectionate tone could warm the coldest heart. “I never expected to set eyes on her again.”
Mrs Hendrie took to serving fillet of venison from the simple fare, while Bennet relayed all that had occurred concerning the handbills, the smashed gargoyle and gravestone.
Julianna gasped and frowned and feigned surprise. “Is it fair to say you saw someone dressed as a monk? Someone whose intention it was to cause alarm?”
“It’s possible.”
Mr Branner was quick to contest the theory. “A person cannot glide over uneven ground with such ease and grace.”
“Glide? You could not see the monk’s feet?”
“No, Mrs Eden. It was dark, and he wore a brown habit.”
“Brown? You’re certain?” Julianna was thankful she’d listened to Edward’s ramblings. “Augustinian monks always wore black.”
Mr Branner’s bottom lip quivered. “It was so dark it might have been black.”
“The monk I saw wore brown,” Bennet said. “The figure passed through the open door in the boundary wall. When I went to investigate, I found no one lurking in the abbey’s grounds.”
“And this was three weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“Was the monk carrying a thurible?”
“Yes.”
Realising her questions sounded abrupt, she modified her tone. “So you both saw the same vision. When did you see the spectre, Mr Branner?”
“Four weeks ago. Just after the first obituary arrived, and two days before I found what looked like the remains of a gargoyle smashed on the front steps.”
Julianna made a mental note of the timeline.
Bennet laid down his cutlery and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “There’s a sequence to the events. I received the obituary, then saw the monk, then Branner found the gravestone.”
How interesting.
People were methodical, not ghosts.
“Having received the obituary, how many days passed before you saw the apparition?”
“Two,” Bennet and the steward said in unison.
By Julianna’s calculation, and based on the fact Bennet had received another handbill three days ago, the monk should have appeared last night.
“And no one saw the monk last night?”
“No,” both men said.
“Why would the third note be different?” she mused aloud.
Mrs Hendrie’s cutlery clattered against her plate. It wasn’t an accident. The woman’s hands shook with a fear she couldn’t contain. “I may have seen something last night, but I can’t be sure.”
Bennet sat forward. “Why did you not mention it before?”
“Forgive me, my lord. My eyes aren’t what they used to be. I never spoke about it because … because I didn’t see a monk.” She cast a nervous glance at Julianna. “I saw a woman.”
A tense silence settled in the room.
“A woman?” Bennet eventually said.
Mrs Hendrie nodded. “It was during my last inspection of the night. I stand on the front steps and scan the gardens before locking the main door.” She bit down on her lip. “That’s when I saw her, my lord. On the lawn, near the oak tree.”
Bennet’s eyes narrowed. “Might it have been a maid?”
“No, my lord.”
“You believe you saw a ghost?”
Mrs Hendrie shrugged. “I thought it was Mrs Eden come early.”
“Me?” Julianna’s heart missed a beat. Heat rose to her cheeks even though she knew she’d been tucked in her bed in Howland Street until six o’clock this morning. It didn’t help that Mr Branner’s tight expression spoke of mistrust.
“The woman had vibrant red hair. I thought it was Mrs Eden because she wore her mother’s gown.” She faced Julianna. “The scandalous gold silk one with the long train.”
Julianna remembered the gown because it barely covered her mother’s breasts. “She left that gown at Witherdeen.”
“The woman looked just like you, Mrs Eden. But she had such a horrible presence I realised it must be a ghost. Indeed, I came inside to get a lamp. When I returned, she’d gone.”
The housekeeper’s confession roused a terrible sense of foreboding. Was Giselle de Lacy’s ghost haunting Witherdeen? Was her presence a bad omen? The third note spoke of a fire. If the villain followed the same pattern, it meant something would happen at Witherdeen tomorrow.
Something dreadful.
Something that might cost Bennet Devereaux his life.
Chapter 6
Had Giselle de Lacy faked her death? Had she returned to Witherdeen to punish Bennet for his father’s sins? Those were the questions dominating Bennet’s thoughts as he listened to Mrs Hendrie’s confession.
Logic pushed through the chaos.
“Mrs Hendrie, what happened to Giselle de Lacy’s possessions when she fled Witherdeen? She left with nothing but a valise.” Not just a valise—she’d taken something infinitely more precious.
In the aftermath, he’d watched his enraged father hurl a mountain of gowns over the balustrade. Amid the turmoil, Julianna’s clothes were left folded neatly in the armoire, the silver bangle given as a Christmas gift, one too big for her to wear, abandoned on the nightstand.
“They’re in the attic, my lord. Your father wished to keep them.”
Julianna glanced at him, for she must have arrived at the same conclusion. No, not that his father’s obsession with Giselle had lasted long after she’d left, but that anyone might have stolen a gown from the attic.
Not anyone.
Isabella Winters.
Though their parting had seemed amicable, had she followed Bennet from town, intent on causing mischief?
“Who has access to the attic?”
Mrs Hendrie stiffened. “All the staff, my lord.”
“And you have every faith Giselle de Lacy’s clothes are there?”
His housekeeper hesitated. “No, my lord. During your house party last summer, you permitted your friends to root through the trunks. They took clothes for the masquerade. I presume they returned them.”
Mr Branner coughed into his fist. “My lord, if you recall, Miss Winters wore a gold silk gown while in the guise of Cleopatra. After consuming too much champagne, she made the servants kneel at her feet and threatened them with her homemade asp.”
“Indeed.” Bennet swallowed deeply to curb his embarrassment. He glanced at Julianna, convinced she must think him thoroughly dissolute. “Miss Winters behaved appallingly and was forced to make a grovelling apology.”
Julianna’s gaze remained fixed on her plate as she sliced the venison. “Your father hosted similar parties. I remember watching the guests’ outrageous behaviour through the balusters.”
The implication that he was anything like his father left a sour taste in Bennet’s mouth. Nothing horrified a man more than realising he’d inherited traits he despised.
“Maybe they’ll not be so rowdy this time,” Mrs Hendrie chirped.
This time?
Julianna raised her head. “His lordship is expecting guests?”
“Yes.” Mrs Hendrie frowned. “You have remembered your friends are arriving from town tomorrow, my lord?”
Tomorrow!
Hellfire!
What with the threats and ghostly sightings, it had slipped his mind. “They usually visit at the end of the month.”
“Miss Winters suggested coming a week early.” Mrs Hendrie sounded panicked. “We spoke about it this morning, my lord, when we discussed the dinner menu.”
This morning he’d been going through the motions while consumed with thoughts of Julianna’s arrival. Having her at Witherdeen required his undivided attention.
“It’s not too late to postpone their visit. I’ll have a man ride to town with a note for Lord Roxburgh. He’ll inform the others.”
Julianna sat quietly, her thoughts a complete mystery, though she looked in some disc
omfort.
Then she straightened and gave a resigned sigh. “Please, don’t cancel your party on my account. Tomorrow, I shall visit the tenant farmers with Mr Branner and spend the rest of the day studying the ruins.”
Damnation. He’d hoped to spend the day with her, examining the evidence, discovering more about her life with Edward Eden.
“I shall call at the cottage at ten o’clock, Mrs Eden.” Branner grinned like a cat who’d found the cream. “If anyone knows about the hauntings and ancient curses, it’s the tenants. Some families have farmed the land for generations.”
“Ancient curses?” Julianna’s countenance brightened. “Do the tenants believe the land is cursed? It would make an interesting addition to my book.”
Branner shrugged. “I have no notion, but I’ve heard whispers that anyone desecrating the abbey brings about a curse that lasts for a hundred years.”
A curse that lasts for a hundred years!
Bennet had never heard anything so ridiculous.
It was another story to impress Julianna.
“Such threats shouldn’t be dismissed,” she said, pandering to the fool. “But if you believe that, Mr Branner, one wonders why you smashed a gravestone on consecrated ground.”
The muscle in Branner’s cheek twitched. “Sometimes anger takes precedence over logic, Mrs Eden. In hindsight, it was foolish. Not because of any supposed curse but because an examination might have helped find the devil who buried it there.”
“Were you aggrieved on his lordship’s behalf?”
“Naturally.”
Julianna pursed her lips. Clearly she had more questions for the steward but chose to focus on her meal rather than bombard him again.
They all ate in silence—lost in their thoughts.
Tension thrummed in the air. More from Bennet’s frustrations at having to entertain guests tomorrow. He didn’t want them at Witherdeen, but in all likelihood, it was too late to postpone.
“Is there a particular goal you wish to achieve during your visit, Mrs Eden?” Branner said. “It strikes me it would take months to complete a full inspection of the site. Take days to read through the documents in the library.”
Julianna seemed unnerved at the prospect of staying at Witherdeen for any length of time. “Tomorrow, I shall focus on the refectory, look for evidence of an undercroft. Do a quick pencil sketch if I can.”
“No doubt your colleague will visit soon.”
“My colleague?” Julianna frowned.
“The artist.”
“Oh, yes. Mr Cole may accompany me on my return.”
Branner continued discussing the ruined abbey. He questioned Julianna about the precepts of monastic life. Thankfully, she knew enough about the monks’ rigid rules to appease the steward. Bennet listened intently, grateful for an opportunity to study the woman he hadn’t seen for seventeen years.
A deep sadness lingered behind her magnificent blue eyes. Lord knows what horrors she’d witnessed over the years. He’d need to penetrate her steely reserve if he had any hope of rescuing their friendship, and there was no time like the present.
“When you’re ready, Mrs Eden, I shall escort you back to the cottage.” Bennet offered before his steward charged ahead like the gallant hero. “Until we’ve captured the devil responsible, it’s not safe to wander the estate alone.”
She made no protest. “I’m ready to leave now, my lord. I have notes to write before I retire, and I can talk to Mr Branner tomorrow.”
Perhaps she wished to discuss aspects of the case privately.
Indeed, his theory proved correct. She bid his staff good night, promised to take tea with Mrs Hendrie, who had barely closed the servants’ door behind them when Julianna asked her burning question.
“Were your friends in attendance when you found the smashed gargoyle on the front steps?” She stopped walking, fastened her pelisse to the neck and shivered as the chilly night air set her teeth chattering. “I p-presume they were still here when Grimley found the gravestone.”
“No, they were in town when the first incident occurred.”
“But you don’t know that for sure. You can only testify to the fact they were not staying at Witherdeen.”
“Then let me rephrase. To my knowledge, they were in town.”
She muttered something about speaking to the local innkeepers.
“You suspect one of my friends might be involved?”
Bennet had known Roxburgh and Lowbridge since school and trusted them implicitly. Both men had brought their mistresses to Witherdeen to celebrate the new year. Hell, he’d not informed them he’d severed his attachment to Isabella, and the ladies were to accompany them again.
“Everyone is a suspect until proven innocent.” She rubbed her bare hands together to chase away the cold. “The fact they’re visiting days after you received the third note may not be a coincidence.”
Bennet found himself in reluctant agreement. “You mean one of them had ample opportunity to bury the gravestone in the abbey.” She meant one of them might attempt to raze Witherdeen to the ground, as proclaimed in the third obituary.
“We cannot rule it out.” She came to an abrupt halt on the gravel path and faced him. “Don’t send word to Lord Roxburgh. Let your friends come. But we must be vigilant. Perhaps have two footmen guard the corridors at night. And Mr Bower can help, of course.”
Bennet inwardly seethed. The thought that a friend had sent the threats, had inflicted such torment, sent blood surging through his veins. He might have released the raging tempest had Julianna not shivered and taken to rubbing her upper arms briskly.
“We should keep walking,” he said, yet placed the lantern on the ground. “First, let me warm your hands. You should have worn gloves. Have you no pockets in that pelisse?”
“Bennet, there’s no—”
He snatched her hand, cocooned it in his and rubbed gently back and forth, generating heat. Heat journeyed up his arms, flooded his chest, spread south to his groin. Strange how a simple act of kindness stirred his desire. Strange how his childhood infatuation had quickly become a grown man’s obsession.
He captured her other hand and continued his ministrations.
Julianna glanced up but struggled to hold his gaze.
“The cold wind sweeps in from the north,” he said, hoping idle conversation would banish all amorous thoughts. “And it’s mostly open ground here.”
“I don’t usually feel the cold.” She glanced up at the array of stars twinkling in an inky sky. “Having spent many nights sleeping beneath the heavens, I thought myself hardened to the elements.”
A heaviness settled in his chest as he imagined a young girl made homeless by her mother’s selfish actions.
“Could your mother not have sold her jewels to provide a home, security?” Giselle had died penniless. A pauper. Surely she hadn’t spent all her money on laudanum.
Julianna blinked in surprise. “My mother was never short of options, not until her latter years. There was always a gentleman willing to give us a room for a while.”
“Then why sleep outdoors?” Was her husband a bully, a mean devil of a man who’d tortured the woman he’d bought? Did he treat her like a slave?
She flinched, though he suspected it was from a past memory, not the cold. “I would rather hear the soft hum of the night than the tormenting sounds indoors.”
“You speak of life with Edward Eden?”
“It was no life.”
“Daventry said your husband treated you well.”
She stared at the ground, her shoulders sagging.
Bennet captured her chin and forced her to look at him. “Did he mistreat you?”
“Not in the conventional way.”
What the hell did that mean?
“Julianna, I shall go out of my mind if you don’t tell me what he did.” Though he would be fit for Bedlam if he discovered she’d been beaten while he’d been indulging every vice. “Did he hurt you physically? Was he a r
ake who flaunted his conquests?”
“Edward was never violent.”
“Then what in blazes did he do?”
She shook her head repeatedly, her silken curls whipping about her face. “I swore I’d never tell a soul, and I’ve kept that vow. More out of shame than loyalty.”
Bennet recalled her bitter tone when she’d spoken about her husband. “Does it have anything to do with his colleague?” Had the man discovered Julianna’s history and thought her free with her affections? “Did he make advances?”
“Lord, no!” Pain flickered across her face. “Justin had a distaste for women. He preferred men, preferred men in every regard.”
“Men?” That shed light on the problem. “As did your husband.” For it all slotted into place.
“Yes.” A single tear trickled down her cheek, and Bennet wiped it away with his thumb. “Edward told his parents we were in love. But he married me so they would not learn of his relationship with Justin.”
She exhaled—long and heavy—as if she had been holding the secret since her wedding night.
“Did Giselle know of his predilection for men?”
“Yes, but in some warped way, she thought it a good thing.”
Probably because Edward Eden needed to play the dutiful husband to secure his wife’s silence. And Giselle had always been tempted by a man with a bulging purse.
“Why the hell did you agree?”
“At first, I refused to be a part of her scheme to find me a husband, but her constant complaining wore me down. I hated watching her suffer.” She dashed her hand across her face as more tears tumbled down her cheeks. “Edward was so kind to me, so attentive in the beginning. I truly thought he cared. And marriage was my only means of escape.”
Bennet drew her into an embrace. Sod restraint. Lucius Daventry could go to hell. Could a man not console a friend who’d suffered? But it wasn’t her tears or the way she nestled close to his chest that made his heart swell. It was the feeling that she was exactly where she belonged.
“Did you hope you might learn to love your husband?” He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling the intoxicating apple scent of her hair. “Did you hope he might return your affections?”
