Sandra Heath (22 page)

Still hiding amid the greenery, Jane looked at Kit in dismay. “They’re leaving in
four hours?”
she whispered, tears welling from her lovely eyes. “Oh, this whole wretched haunting has been a disaster! We hoped this renewed snow would give us more time; instead they’re leaving by sea! On top of that, poor Rowley is lost, we’ve encountered a bogle, and the
Basilic
has appeared! It’s too dreadful. What are we going to do?”

Without reply, Kit held her close. He couldn’t add anything to what she’d said, because every word was true.

Marcus still hadn’t left the conservatory. “There is just one thing,” he added, turning. “Our luggage will have to remain here at the abbey. We’ll have to ride down to the quay, and I certainly have no desire to labor with trunks as well. Just pack a single portmanteau.” Inclining his head again, he went out.

A moment later Henrietta followed, and the ghosts emerged from hiding. Kit took Jane’s hand and led her out on to the snow-swathed terrace. “Beloved, we either have four hours left in which to accomplish something, or we could go with them on the
Avalon
,”
he said quietly.

Jane’s gaze widened. “Go with them? Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly ...”

“Do you want to go to heaven?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then we have to seize every possible opportunity to make this pair see sense. We know the snow will remain for some time yet, and if we go with them, we will stand a chance of accomplishing our task.”

“But we’ve just learned that Marcus is going to marry someone else, and we have no idea whether it’s an arranged match or a matter of the heart.”

“If it is a love match I will be very surprised. Jane, I’m certain he loves Henrietta as much as she loves him, and if we go with them, we’ll be able to use every opportunity to bring them together.”

Jane glanced toward the sea. “I’m afraid, Kit. You do know what day it is today, don’t you? It’s February twelfth, the very same day that we took passage on the
Wessex”

“I know, but Henrietta is to be taken to London, and the Thames estuary lies well north of the sands, my love. We don’t have to go anywhere near the Goodwins, because we can go ashore in the capital.”

“Even so ...”

“I don’t want to spend more years like this, Jane. I’m tired of being in limbo. Let us take our courage—and our convictions— in both hands, and do our damnedest to turn these two stubborn separates into a couple. We can’t do anything for Rowley. Forgive me for saying this, my darling, but we have to face facts. We don’t know where Rowley is. He may still be at the mercy of the bogle, or worse, by now he may have been taken by Old Nick.”

Jane gave a cry and burst into tears. “Oh,
please
don’t even think it!”

“We must hope he is safe somewhere, but in the meantime we must keep trying to complete our task. And that means accompanying Henrietta and Marcus on the
Avalon.”

Jane struggled with her tears, and at last drew a long breath. “You’re right, of course. Very well, let us go with them.”

Down in the fiery depths of Hades, Old Nick gave an evil chuckle. Their efforts were going to be in vain, for his new weapon would defeat them—and St. Peter—at every turn.

* * * *

Rowley was aroused from sleep by the ringing of the bell. It was something to which he had by now become accustomed, but this time it was different. Urgent and more prolonged, and accompanied by much activity. He could hear a swishing sound, as if wood were being brushed, and the thud of boots as men ran to-and-fro. Orders were being shouted and there were rhythmic chants as men hauled upon winches. The spaniel cocked his ears and put his head to one side as he listened. Would someone come at last to give him a chance to escape? As he listened, he gradually became aware of another sound, one that came from much closer by. It was the grunt and whistle of someone snoring. The bogle!

Rowley’s eyes gleamed with the light of revenge and he crept down the wall, still cocking his ears to pinpoint the bogle’s precise position. Gradually he drew close enough to realize it was sleeping on a pile of sandbags close to the door. Boldly the spaniel approached, his efficient nose first locating the bogle’s feet, then its skinny legs, and finally its surprisingly well-padded posterior, which was providentially turned toward him. Opening his jaws, Rowley did unto the bogle what the bogle was wont to do unto others—he sank his teeth as deeply as he could. With a shriek of pain the manikin awoke, leaped to its feet, and hopped up and down, rubbing its rear.

The spaniel scuttled triumphantly back to the safety of his high corner and sat there wagging his tail. He suddenly felt better than he had in a long time. Revenge, however small, was very sweet.

Chapter Twenty-three

After taking leave of a tearful Charlotte, Henrietta and Marcus set off for Mulborough harbor through the ever deepening snow. They rode the largest horses in the stables, to cope with the difficulty, and were accompanied by Russell. With them went the maid whose presence would protect Henrietta’s reputation. The maid was loath to go, never having left Mulborough in her life, and had no desire to do so now. However, apart from Charlotte’s own maid, who was unwell, she was the only one at the abbey with experience of waiting upon a lady.

Two invisible figures accompanied the small party, and although Henrietta knew they were there, she did not accord them so much as a glance, let alone a smile. This was because she and the ghosts had had a bitter falling out. Even though she was clearly very upset by Marcus’ wedding revelations, Kit had rather tactlessly persisted in reprimanding her. There had been a heated exchange while she packed her portmanteau, and the wraiths had swept out in high dudgeon. Tempers had cooled a little now, and both sides wished certain things had not been said, but neither was prepared to be the first to back down.

The small group, visible and invisible, made its arduous way through the heavy snow. The land was white, the trees bowed down with weight, and the winter roar of the river was muffled beneath ice. In Mulborough the smell of smoke hung in the frozen air as fires burned in every hearth, and the scrape of shovels was heard as the determined townsfolk endeavored to keep the streets clear. But the relentless snow continued to fall, with flakes so large and solid they could be heard as they touched. The tide was almost at its height and the water by the quay was thick with ice crystals that chinked and rustled as it washed idly against the steps. The
Avalon
was hidden from view by the falling snow, but her gig was waiting, the sailors rubbing their hands together to keep warm. Their breath billowed in clouds and they wore rug coats and low-crowned hats with flaps that protected their ears.

Marcus lifted Henrietta down first. Snow clung to her golden wool cloak and to the frame of curls around her face. In spite of the cloak’s fur trimming and lining and the warm gown she wore beneath it, she still shivered as she watched him help the maid down as well. Then he handed their portmanteaus to the boatswain, Mr. Padstow, who was about forty years old, had a rosy snub-nosed face and wisps of wiry hair that peeped from beneath a warm red woolen hat. Like many sailors, he wore gold earrings in the belief they would aid his eyesight. He had been Marcus’ faithful right hand since being captured by pirates and marooned on a Caribbean island. Death would surely have been his lot had not Marcus seen his signal fire and risked a dangerous reef in order to rescue him.

Jane was very nervous as she stood on the quay. Oh, how she hated the sea, and now despised it even more since seeing the
Basilic
again. She gave Kit an apologetic smile. “The last time we did this ...”

“I know, my darling, I know.”

“And this time we’re trying to help a disagreeable madam who won’t even do us the courtesy of speaking!” Jane gave Henrietta a dark look.

“Well, it’s my fault now. I should have realized how upset she was about the existence of Marcus’ bride, and I should have admitted that she was right to point out that the townsmen had seen the signals. My dear, we were simply frightened about the
Basilic,
and angry that Amabel and the
Légère
escaped. We vented our wrath on Henrietta, and it wasn’t really fair. If I were her, I’d probably be in a huff too.”

Jane couldn’t repress a smile. “Well, put that way—”

“I’m sure we’ll make it up with her soon. In the meantime, let us prepare to go on board.”

Jane bit her lip and tried to be brave, but someone else in the party did not have such backbone. The maid’s reluctance to leave Mulborough suddenly gained the upper hand. She glanced around at the thickly falling snow, then down at the freezing water, and burst into tears. “I don’t want to go, please don’t make me!” she sobbed.

Henrietta was horrified to be the cause of such distress. “Oh, please don’t cry, of course you don’t have to come,” she said, trying to comfort the weeping girl.

“But—but Lady Mulborough said I must!”

“I shall manage quite well on my own. You return to the abbey with Lord Mulborough, who will explain to Lady Mulborough that I decided I did not require you after all.” Henrietta gave Russell a meaningful look.

He dismounted to assist the girl. “I am more than willing to say what you wish, Henrietta, but what of propriety? I mean, you will be alone on board ship with Marcus for several days, and it will not look good in society’s eyes.” He cleared his throat and glanced apologetically at Marcus.

Henrietta felt her cheeks flush. “It cannot be helped. I must return to London, and this is the only way.”

Marcus interposed. “Have no fear that your good name will be besmirched, for no one need know you traveled unchaperoned. All that has to be put out is that on arriving the maid went straight to Mulborough House.”

Russell nodded. “That should do, I fancy. Do you agree, Henrietta?”

“Yes.”

Russell assisted the weeping maid on to her horse once more, and then hugged Henrietta farewell. Still ignoring Jane and Kit, Henrietta followed Mr. Padstow down the slippery steps. Jane took a huge breath to steady her nerves, and then clung to Kit’s arm as they followed. It took all her courage to exchange the solid safety of the quay for the swaying uncertainty of the boat, but somehow she managed. The specters squeezed together in the prow, directly behind Henrietta.

Jane put a ghostly hand on her shoulder. “Henrietta ...”

Fearing another bitter exchange, Henrietta didn’t respond by so much as a flicker. She had her emotions on the tightest rein imaginable, for in truth she was so wretched over Marcus that she felt like following the maid’s example by bursting into floods of tears! She was also bitterly disappointed in the ghosts for blaming her for what had happened. She’d been wrong to go after them when she’d said she wouldn’t, but they were being unfair and she wasn’t ready to forgive them.

Marcus took his leave of Russell and came down the steps. The gig lurched so much as he embarked that Jane gave a squeak of fright and gripped Kit’s arm tightly. As soon as Marcus had taken the seat next to Henrietta, he untied the mooring rope and the sailors pushed the oars against the steps. Jane closed her eyes and whispered a silent prayer as the gig nosed away from the quay. Ice whispered in the sluggish water, and the chill seemed rawer than ever as the sailors swung into the rhythm of rowing. Mr. Padstow, who was at the helm, tugged his hat farther down over his ears, and Russell watched from the quay until the gig faded from view in the swirling snow. Henrietta gazed back until Mulborough could be seen no more; when she turned to look forward, the
Avalon
could not be seen either. The gig could have been in the middle of an ocean, hundreds of miles from anywhere.

Marcus’ sloop wasn’t invisible to Jane and Kit, however. For them the snow seemed to suddenly peel back, and by an eerie silver light they saw the
Avalon
quite clearly. As they looked, she began to change shape, and instead of the sleek modern sloop, became the much older, larger
Wessex,
on which the ghosts had eloped when alive. Plain and unremarkable, the fully laden merchantman sat low in the water. Jane and Kit held hands tightly as for a moment they again relived the past. Then the silver light faded and the snow closed in again. The ghosts didn’t speak, but both knew something terrible was going to happen, something they were powerless to resist.

Mr. Padstow put a whistle to his lips and blew hard. There was an answering whistle, and a guiding lantern shone through the murk. The boatswain adjusted the gig’s course, and as they slid beneath the
Avalon’s
gilded prow. Henrietta saw two other fully crewed gigs waiting to haul the sloop out of the harbor. The oars were shipped, and Marcus reached out to make the gig fast to the steps against the side of the ship. Stepping out, he stretched down to take Henrietta’s hand and pulled her effortlessly up to join him.

Kit assisted Jane from the gig as well, and as the two wraiths gazed up the steps toward the deck, the silver glow appeared again. They did not know if they were boarding the
Avalon
or the
Wessex;
indeed everything seemed so blurred and indistinct that it was almost as if they were in a dream. Unable to move swiftly, they mounted the steps to the deck, where to their relief the illusion faded, and they found themselves only upon the
Avalon.
Hand-in-hand they glided toward the quarterdeck, beneath which were two doors, one to Marcus’ private cabins on the same level as the main deck, the other to the hold and sailors’ accommodation. No one saw them, not even the helmsman, through whom they passed as they made for the companionway that led down into the bowels of the vessel.

Marcus led Henrietta up from the gig, and on reaching the deck she gazed around with reluctant admiration, for there was no doubt that the
Avalon
was one of the finest vessels afloat. A sailor ascended behind them with their portmanteaus.

The sloop’s first officer, Mr. Barrington, stepped forward to salute Marcus and greet Henrietta. He was slightly older than Marcus, a lean man with a beard that he clearly groomed very carefully. His blue eyes were set above a broken nose and his straight brown hair was combed back from his forehead.