Old Lover's Ghost (18 page)

They were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching the door. “All is quiet in the Armaments Room,” Wainwright announced. “Come along, Charity. We do not want to keep Merton up so late.”

Merton looked more frustrated than pleased at the interruption, but he said good night to his guests with a polite face, and they parted.

Chapter Sixteen

Lord Merton met with his colleagues over breakfast the next morning to discuss the fruits of his night’s pondering and their strategy for the job ahead. He had already talked it over with Wainwright the evening before when he went to his room to speak of other matters. He assumed Wainwright had told the others. He noticed that Lewis and Charity were sitting with their heads together when he entered the breakfast room. They drew apart hastily, with guilty looks, just before she gave him a heavy frown. She was not happy to be excluded from active participation in the affair.

“You have told them?” he asked Wainwright.

“That I have. They agree it is a fine plan. Hoist by his own petard!” Wainwright laughed. “Set a ghost to catch a ghost. I will be happy to participate. Smoke, I think, in lieu of steam. You will want a damp fire, to cause the greatest amount of smoke and the least light. The open air will dissipate the smell.”

“I doubt he will be close enough to catch the scent,” Merton said. “We shall light the fire when we see him come out of the vicarage. With luck it will not be necessary to open Meg’s grave, but I shall arrange the formalities, in case it comes to that.”

After breakfast Charity followed Merton to his office. “I want to be Meg,” she said.

“It is out of the question. Lewis will be Meg.”

“But he is too big! No one would believe he is a woman.”

“It will be dark, and they will not see him at close range.”

“I can talk Papa around, if that is what concerns you. He will not really mind.”

“I will mind. We don’t know what will happen. There might be trouble. This is for me to handle as I see fit,” he said more sternly than he wanted to, but it would be unthinkable to put an innocent young lady at risk. If anything should happen to Charity ... “You shall remain at Keefer Hall.”

“Merton! You could not be so mean! At least let me go to the graveyard!” His harsh scowl softened to a reluctant smile. She saw it and knew he was wavering. “Please! Pretty please.”

“Very well, but you must stay well out of the fray. I would not want anything to happen to you.”

She gave a saucy look. “This is the first nice thing you have ever said to me, Merton.”

“Indeed!”

“I shall leave now, before you change your mind—and decide to let me be Meg. I don’t think I would really enjoy that.”

“You only came here to get yourself included in the outing!”

“Yes, one learns how to manage recalcitrant gentlemen, with practice. Winton suggested the way to achieve my aim was to ask for more than I wanted.”

“I take leave to tell you, you are a managing female, Miss Wainwright.”

“Why, thank you,” she said, dropping a curtsy and darting out the door.

Merton watched her leave. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. So she was on terms of some intimacy with Lewis. That might be a problem.

At ten Merton rode off to Eastleigh to set in motion the necessary formalities for the exhumation of the mortal remains of Meg Monteith and her infant son, Roger. By noon all the concerned parties were aware of the fact when they gathered in the Blue Saloon. Lady Merton had been informed of the charade and was in the boughs. She immediately sent off to the vicarage for St. John, who came scrambling to Keefer Hall to inveigh against the scheme.

“Can you not speak sense to Merton, Mr. Wainwright?” he said, choosing this unlikely ally to buttress his objections to the plan. “God only knows what new ghosts might be unleashed.”

“Hardly new ghosts,” Wainwright said thoughtfully. “Meg and her son already haunt the house, do they not, despite my being unable to make contact? Perhaps it will lay their ghosts to rest. It will all be done discreetly, Vicar, never fear.”

“Yes, certainly,” Merton said. “It will take a couple of days to get the exhumation order in place. I shall arrange for men to open the grave tomorrow night after darkness falls, when everyone is in bed. Around midnight.”

“It sounds like jolly good sport. I would not miss it for a monkey,” Lewis said, smiling.

“This is not a public entertainment, Lewis,” his brother chided. “There will be no one there but the grave diggers, myself, and an impartial witness appointed by the magistrate. I have suggested Mr. Wainwright. The magistrate has agreed.”

“Happy to oblige,” Wainwright said with a nod. “There is no saying; some supernatural occurrence may take place. A disturbed grave is no light matter. Perhaps a vicar would be useful as well,” he suggested, looking at St. John.

“I will not show approval of this outrageous scheme by taking any part in it,” St. John replied. “I want it firmly understood that I disapprove. Really, Merton, you might have a little respect for your mama’s wishes.”

Merton just smiled a lazy smile. “Mama wishes for peace from the past. I am endeavoring to accomplish that for her.”

“What will it accomplish, even if the child is not in the grave?” St. John demanded. “It only proves the child is buried elsewhere. I hope you do not plan to dig up the entire graveyard?”

“I disagree,” Merton said. “The gravestone says the child is buried in Meg’s grave. If the child is not there, then it indicates he was not buried. One assumes a corpse was not left aboveground. In short, Vicar, I feel it will go some way toward proving that Meg’s son did not die.”

“Of course he died!” Miss Monteith exclaimed. “I was there. I held the poor wee thing in my arms as it gasped its last breath. I found Meg in the meadow, all alone,” she added hastily.

“If it is in the grave,” Merton said blandly, “then both mother and child will be reburied and that will be the end of it.”

“But what if it is not?” Lady Merton asked.

“Then I shall have to take steps, Mama.” He looked for a moment at the vicar, then turned his dark eyes to Miss Monteith, before continuing to speak to his mother. “But pray do not concern yourself. And now if you will excuse me, I must go and speak to my workmen, to see which of them will be free tomorrow night. Come along, Lewis.” They rose, bowed and left the room together.

When they were beyond the door, Lewis said, “I shall get my mount and hide behind the stable to follow St. John when he leaves.”

“No, go on foot,” Merton said. “And if he does not go directly to Old Ned, see where he goes, then return to keep an eye on Ned. I must know if they meet or if a message is sent.”

“Do I stop St. John or just watch?”

“Just watch. I do not want their messages intercepted, but only to confirm that they are in touch. And, Lewis, I understand you have been instructing Miss Wainwright how to manage me.” He regarded his brother with a fiery eye.

“Really, John. Why should she not come along? You never want her to do anything. You ought to watch that managing streak. You are becoming just like Papa.”

“Papa would have boxed your ears for this impertinence. Run along, wretch.”

Wainwright soon left the saloon as well, taking his daughter with him. “Lord Merton has allowed me to visit his room this morning, in hopes of speaking to the singing nun,” he explained to the others.

He and Charity did not go abovestairs immediately, but nipped smartly into Bagot’s little room. Bagot, too, had been pressed into service in the post of watchman. As they suspected, Lady Merton left the saloon alone a moment later and went upstairs. Miss Monteith remained behind to have a word with St. John. All was going according to plan.

“Do you think it will work?” Charity asked her father.

“If we are on the right track, it cannot fail. What would you do if confronted with this debacle? Get a skeleton of a child into that grave, right?”

“But how? Where will they find one?”

“It will be difficult but not impossible. There must be infants buried nearby.”

Bagot cleared his throat and said, “Or perhaps they will use animal bones. There are dozens of dogs buried on the estate. In the darkness of night all that would be seen is a parcel of bones swaddled in some decaying cloth. No one will be eager to handle the remains.”

“It sounds horrid!” Charity exclaimed.

“Aye,” her father said, “but not so horrid as what is being done to that poor lady. I knew all along there was no ghost in her room; this will prove it. My reputation is at stake. I shall write up a monograph for the Society, to make them aware of such stunts in the future.”

Charity said, “I shall go abovestairs and begin to make up the wig. I fear I must sacrifice my round bonnet to the cause. I shall need something head-shaped to attach the wool to. Merton said you would provide me with the yellow wool, Bagot?”

He handed her a ball of wool, artfully concealed in a teapot. “You might find a doll in the nursery to use for the child,” he added.

“Be sure you lock your door, Charity,” Wainwright cautioned. “We do not want Miss Monteith sniffing out our little secret. She must be on needles this morning, poor woman. Let it be a lesson to her. And now I believe I shall go to visit the singing nun.” Charity gave him a sharp look. “I do have Merton’s permission, my dear. He was very civil about it.”

They went upstairs together, still discussing their scheme. As expected, Mr. Wainwright did not utter any serious objections to Charity’s participating.

“If Merton thinks it is safe, then you may come along,” he said with very little interest.

Miss Monteith’s presence at lunch made any private discussion impossible, but after lunch the Wainwrights and the Dechastelaine brothers used a tour of the gardens as an excuse for more planning.

They went out into the spring sunshine to stroll along the paths and down the steps of the parterre. An allee guarded by a double row of poplars led to a fountain as the focal point of the allee.

“St. John did not go directly to visit Old Ned, John,” Lewis said. “He drove off toward home in his gig, but he came back on foot later. They were closeted together for the better part of an hour.”

Merton said, “I spotted St. John making a tour of the graveyard—no doubt looking for an infant grave he could plunder. I doubt he will sink to that. It would be too noticeable.”

Wainwright listened, then spoke. “What do you suppose they will do after you have exposed them, Merton?”

“St. John will have to change careers. He is certainly unfit to be a man of the cloth. With his education he will soon find work elsewhere—teaching perhaps. It will be for Mama to decide Miss Monteith’s fate, but I will not have her under my roof.”

“I am happy to hear it. You might recall I fingered her as a malign influence the first time I met her.”

“So you did.” Merton nodded. He thought Wainwright could be a clever man if he would only let up on this hobbyhorse of his.

“And Old Ned?” Lewis asked. “The place will not seem the same without our hermit.”

“Perhaps he will become a true hermit,” Merton said. “We must wait and see how deeply he is involved in all of this. At the very least, my paintings will be returned and my wine cellar locked. My best claret!”

Charity tsked. “I think that bothers you more than the rest, Merton.”

“No, what they have done to Mama bothers me more.”

The terraced gardens, shining under the spring sun, seemed an unlikely place to be discussing the heinous goings-on at Keefer Hall. It was soon clear that Mr. Wainwright felt the call of his profession. He turned to look back at the cloisters.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, cupping his ear.

“I heard nothing,” Merton replied. Neither had Charity or Lewis.

“Surely you heard the mournful singing? It came from the cloisters. The singing nun! I must investigate.”

“I shall go with you,” Lewis said at once, and they hurried off together.

Merton offered Charity his arm. “Alone at last,” he said with a smile. They reached the allee and began walking toward the fountain.

“It was kind of you to let Papa investigate your bedchamber,” she said.

“If it is haunted, then it is best to remove the ghosts before ... before he leaves.”

“We shall be leaving soon. Once Lady Merton is satisfied that she has no ghost in her chamber, there will be no reason to remain.”

“Why, you are forgetting the singing nun, ma’am.”

“You do not believe in that. That is not why we were invited.”

“Have you forgotten I promised you a party?”

“It will be some time before you are able to dance, with that lame ankle,” she pointed out.

“True, you may have to remain a few weeks.”

“We seldom stay anywhere as long as that,” she said wistfully.

“I fancy your papa will stay awhile at least when I tell him what I have in mind.”

Charity felt a rush of blood to her head. “What—whatever do you mean, Merton?” she asked in a choked voice.

“I have sent a footman off to Lord Bath at Longleat, as your father mentioned an interest in visiting it. I extolled your papa’s powers and mentioned that he is in the neighborhood. Longleat is not so far from Keefer Hall. It seems a shame not to continue on to Wiltshire, while he is already halfway there.”

Her heart settled down to a dull, disappointed thud. “That was very kind of you. He will be aux anges to visit Lord Bath.”

“You, I think, do not share your father’s enthusiasm for this peripatetic life-style, Charity.”

“To tell the truth, I have become a little tired of it. It seems I no sooner get home than we are off again.”

“Perhaps it is time for you to settle down,” he said, watching for her reaction.

She just shook her head. “Tell that to Papa. While there is a haunted house in England, he will not settle down.”

“I shall speak to him,” was all he said.

“Oh, no! You must not. This is his whole life. He would sink into a slough of despond if he were deprived of his ghost hunting.”

“There is no reason he must stop, if it amuses him.”