Old Lover's Ghost (3 page)

“What society is that?” Lewis asked.

“The Society for the Study of Discarnate Beings,” she replied. “Papa is a founding member of it.”

Merton snorted openly.

“How would a fellow go about joining it?” Lewis asked.

Merton said, “Let us hope the society’s rules are more lenient than Cambridge’s or you will not last long.”

Charity looked a question at him. Before either could speak, Lewis cleared his throat and said, “We shall speak of it another time. Do you ride, Miss Wainwright?”

“Yes, indeed, but I did not bring my riding habit.”

“Daresay Mama may have one to fit you.”

As his mama was six inches shorter and the same measure wider than Miss Wainwright, she stared to hear this.

“Don’t be an ass, Lewis,” his brother said. “In any event, the Wainwrights will soon find our ghosts and leave. They are not here to ride—or to shanghai members for Mr. Wainwright’s ghost society.”

Charity knew how to handle the brusque manner of a nonbeliever. “Just so,” she said demurely. “Actually, membership is severely restricted. There is a waiting list of over a hundred applicants.”

They finished their claret and Mr. Wainwright rose. “Let the hunting begin,” he announced in dramatic accents.

“I shall accompany you!” Lewis said, jumping up at once.

Lady Merton also rose and began to lead the way. Lord Merton stood, looking after them with an expression not much short of a sneer on his chiseled face. He did not move as the party walked to the door. Charity looked over her shoulder, not an invitation but merely a curious look. Merton’s cool glance measured her lithe form and the nest of curls atop her head. The eyes were rather good.... It might be amusing to see how that poseur of a Wainwright conned the ladies. He set down his glass and followed the little group into the hallway.

Lewis put a possessive hand on Charity’s elbow and began to ask her how he should apply for membership in the Society.

At the foot of the stairs Mr. Wainwright stopped. His body assumed the rigid posture of a pointer on the scent of its quarry. He lifted his silver-knobbed cane in a dramatic gesture and pointed it down the hall. His satin-lined cape swirled with the motion of his arm.

“A very strong presence in that direction. A young male—angry about something. Can you not feel the cold blast?”

“I feel it! A regular Arctic blast,” Lewis said. Charity had intimated a sensitivity to spirits was highly regarded in the Society.

“That is where Knagg lives, in the Armaments Room!” Lady Merton exclaimed. “Fancy your feeling him from this far away, Mr. Wainwright.”

Merton’s gaze turned to the doorway, where a breeze stiff enough to ruffle a muffler Lewis had tossed on a chair blew in from the ill-fitting door.

“I must have that door rehung,” he murmured.

Lady Merton led the party up the grand staircase to her bedchamber. At the top of the stairs Wainwright again stopped, listened, raised his silver-knobbed cane, and this time pointed it west. “A young woman,” he said. “It is an affair of the heart.”

Lady Merton gasped, then frowned. “But my bedchamber with the ghost is to the east, Mr. Wainwright.”

Lord Merton pinched his lips between his teeth to squelch his laugh of triumph. He cast a quick glance at Miss Wainwright, who smiled softly, undismayed and unoffended.

“If Papa says there is a female ghost in the west wing, milord, you will find there is such a specter there,” she said.

Lewis was unhappy to lose Miss Wainwright’s attention. “John could not find an elephant in a closet, where ghosts are concerned,” he said.

“Odd this specter has never troubled me. I sleep in the west wing,” Merton replied.

“I have seen her a dozen times,” Lewis said. “A gray lady slipping along the corridor.”

“Miss Monteith, no doubt,” his brother replied. “Shall we continue on to Mama’s room—despite Mr. Wainwright’s having failed to sense any disturbance there?”

“Indeed. We shall return to the young lady and Knagg anon,” Wainwright agreed, and they continued eastward.

Charity, knowing she would not sense any ghostly apparition, looked at Lady Merton’s bedchamber with a clear eye. She saw an extremely elegant room with handpainted wallpaper featuring bluebirds and roses. The same pattern appeared on the creamy carpet. The furnishings were dainty French pieces, the chaise lounge upholstered in the same shade of blue as the birds on the walls. On a table beside it rested a decanter of wine and a novel. A blue lustring bed canopy and pelmetted window drapes added a little too much blue to the chamber to please her, although it was elegant. The toilet table boasted a host of cosmetic bottles, their chased silver lids matching the dresser set. The air was heavy with the cloying scent from two large bouquets of pink roses.

Wainwright looked around, frowning. He went to the suspect window, glanced out, shook his head, and turned to the clothespress. He opened the door, looked in, then shook his head again. “You have no ghost here, milady.”

Lady Merton’s pretty face puckered in annoyance. “Nonsense! I know a ghost when I see one. She came right out of that clothespress two nights ago,” she said, pointing to it. “Sometimes she comes to my window.”

Wainwright smiled condescendingly. “As you have experienced these apparitions, then I can only assume your ghost has left. They do leave eventually, you must know—though it is strange there should be no lingering trace so soon after an apparition. They usually dwindle, becoming weaker, finally leaving entirely. I sense no trace whatsoever here.”

“Try my sitting room,” she said, and led the way into it. “Oh, you are here, Miss Monteith!” she exclaimed.

A tall, angular female of middle years rose at their entrance and regarded them with a saurian eye. Her graying hair was bound tightly and covered with a cap. Her plain dove-gray gown suggested she was a higher class of servant.

“I was just fixing the hem on your skirt, milady,” she said with a brief curtsy.

“This is my companion, Miss Monteith,” Lady Merton said. “This is the gentleman I have invited to look into the ghost, Miss Monteith. And his daughter, Miss Wainwright.”

While the introduction was being acknowledged, Mr. Wainwright stared hard at Miss Monteith. He said nothing, but as soon as they left, he said to Lady Merton, “How long has that woman been with you?”

“Why, forever. She was here when I married Lord Merton thirty-five years ago.”

“Ah. I had thought her arrival to be of more recent date. I would advise you to get rid of her. She is not good for you.”

“I could not do that!” Lady Merton exclaimed. “Miss Monteith is an old and trusted servant.”

“Banish her to some other part of the house at least.”

“You are on the wrong track, Mr. Wainwright,” Lady Merton said stiffly. “I invited you to find my ghost and help me be rid of her, not to rearrange my household.”

Lord Merton liked the notion of getting rid of Miss Monteith. He noticed his mama was always disturbed after being closeted with the woman. As he hoped Wainwright might yet prove helpful, he said in a pleasant way, “Shall we go along and visit Knagg now?”

“Go ahead,” Lady Merton said. “I shall retire. Thank you for coming, Mr. Wainwright. It was kind of you to undertake the trip.” She moved a step closer and added in a lowered voice, “We shall speak again tomorrow about ... what you said earlier.”

“Indeed we shall.” He bowed ceremoniously and left.

The group did not proceed immediately to visit Knagg.

“While we are abovestairs, I must have just a little look at that west corridor where the emanation is so strong,” Wainwright said.

Merton pinched his lips together and led the way. When they were halfway down the corridor, Wainwright stopped. “Yes, the presence is overwhelming here. Can you not feel the bone-chilling wind?” He drew his cape around him, flinging one corner over his shoulder in a manner to reveal its satin lining.

“No, I cannot say that I do,” Merton replied.

Charity was uncertain. It was chillier, but as they had just left Lady Merton’s room, where the grate was blazing, that might account for it.

“I am frozen to the marrow,” Lewis said, turning up his collar.

“This is the old part of the house,” Merton explained. “Odd you mention a female presence, sir.”

“A nun. Definitely a young nun,” Wainwright said.

A triumphant smile seized Merton’s face. “I am afraid you are mistaken. The nuns were housed in the priory, a mile to the west. They were never allowed here. This is where the monks slept.”

“She was killed in that room,” Wainwright said, pointing his silver knob at the door. “May I enter, Lord Merton?”

“That is my bedchamber! I assure you there are no ghosts in there.”

“What are you afraid of, John?” Lewis taunted.

Wainwright said nothing, but he gave him such an imperative look that Merton opened the door. “She was murdered just there,” he said, pointing to the fireplace.

“Burned alive!” Lewis exclaimed. “Immolated in flames, like Joan of Arc.”

“No, shot right here,” Wainwright said, placing his hand on his chest.

“But that is certainly the singing nun!” Lewis said. “She is reported as having a dark stain on the bodice of her habit. Odd it was done in the grate.”

“The house has obviously undergone renovations,” Wainwright explained.

“That is true,” Merton said grudgingly. “I have just told you there were rows of monks’ cells along this corridor at one time. When it was rebuilt, naturally that was changed. We are not monks after all.”

Wainwright said, “We shall learn more anon. Now let us proceed to Knagg. I cannot tell you how long I have wanted to get into Keefer Hall, milord. Very kind of you to invite me.”

“It was Mama who invited you. I daresay you have been studying the literature of Keefer Hall, Mr. Wainwright?”

Charity saw what he was getting at and resented it. He was trying to show Papa up as a fraud.

“I am pretty familiar with all the literature and legends of our English ghosts,” Wainwright admitted. “But the literature does not mention the nun being in that particular area. She is said to haunt the cloisters.”

“So folks say,” Merton agreed. One thing he did approve of was Wainwright’s cautioning his mama against Miss Monteith. He mentioned this to his guest. “I cannot believe the woman is good for her.”

“She is bent on mischief. I would not let her within the walls of the house, but that is your affair. I only advise.”

“You sensed no ghost in Mama’s rooms?” Lewis asked. “I mean to say, you were not shamming it, to ease her mind?”

“I never sham it, Lord Winton. There is no ghost there.”

“Well, there is certainly one in the Armaments Room.”

Merton led the way down to this ancient timbered room, which had been lit in anticipation of the visit. It was hung with all manner of sword and halberd, ancient gun, spiked mace and pistol, helmet and bloodied flag, and even one small cannon. Suits of armor stood around the edge of the room, reminding Charity of a ball to which too many gentlemen had been invited.

“Ah!” Wainwright sighed blissfully. “Yes, indeed! The place is alive with spirits. You have not one ghost here, milord, but at least two. Both young men. One Cavalier—that would be Knagg—and one of Cromwell’s Ironsides. They are at daggers drawn over—that!” he said, pointing to a table to the left of the grate.

They all went forward to examine the cause of the mischief. A yellow jerkin and a round helmet sat on a table, along with an assortment of old pistols.

“Now that is odd!” Lewis said. “The servants complain of finding the little yellow jacket and the helmet on the floor a dozen times a month.”

Wainwright explained, “The Royalist ghost does not want it on that table. He would prefer to have those reminders of Cromwell out of the room entirely or at least not on display.”

“They are a part of the history of Keefer Hall,” Merton said. “I could not allow them to be removed.”

“At least move them to a separate table,” Wainwright said. “You will have no peace until you do.”

Lewis closed his eyes and said, “I get a sense that Knagg is sore that Cromwell’s relics are mixed up with the Royalist ones.” From beneath his eyelids he peered at Wainwright for confirmation.

“That is the obvious answer,” Wainwright agreed. “Common sense comes into it, too.”

“I am surprised to hear it,” Merton said.

“Let us not move them yet,” Wainwright continued. “It might make the ghosts depart, and I would like a word with them before that happens.”

Merton looked at him, astonishment elevated to irony. “You need not fear I intend to change anything in my house to suit a ghost, Mr. Wainwright. And now that you have met all the spectral guests of Keefer Hall, perhaps you would like a bite of meat before retiring.”

“I shall join you in the saloon shortly, milord. I would just like a word with Charles.”

Lewis said, “Eh? Our butler’s name is Bagot.”

“I refer to your Parliamentary ghost and his friend, the Cavalier. They are related—by blood, I mean. Brothers or stepbrothers or cousins. Not brothers-in-law. It is sad to have families at odds. I shall try to arrange a reconciliation.”

Lewis weighed Charity’s charms against her papa’s and opted for the latter. “I shall stay and give you a hand, sir.”

“Good luck,” Merton said. He offered his arm to Charity and said, “Would you care to join me in the Blue Saloon, ma’am? There is a matter I should like to discuss with you.”

She felt a quiver of apprehension. Surely he was not going to ask them to leave! That would be a new low in Papa’s career. And Lady Merton would not come to their rescue as Papa had not found a ghost in her bedchamber. She knew perfectly well that Merton thought her papa a fraud, so he could not want to discuss ghosts. But no, they would not be leaving yet. Papa had told her to bring her new evening frock and he was seldom mistaken about such things.

Chapter Three

The servants were preparing tea when Charity and Lord Merton entered the Blue Saloon. Two young girls were placing a large silver tray that held the tea set, dishes, sandwiches, and a plate of sweets on the sofa table before the grate. Merton spoke idly of inconsequential matters until they had left, inquiring if Miss Wainwright had had a pleasant trip and such things.