Secrets of the Highwayman (12 page)

When Melanie got down to the kitchen she
found the cavernous room empty, although there were signs that someone had been here earlier. Whoever it was—and she had a good idea—had eaten most of the toast and marmalade. She made do with a crust with marmite and a cup of instant coffee, and wandered outside. The sky was hazy; the air still and humid.

Her dreams left her feeling strangely distant from her surroundings, although she had recovered from her almost-fall down the stairs and that nasty moment with that…well, whatever it was. She wanted to believe that was part of the dream, too, but even before she glanced at the fading mark on her hand she knew it wasn’t. It was real, just as Nathaniel Raven was real.

Maybe they had brought it with them from the between-worlds? Maybe it latched on to them like a burr, and now it was here, inside Ravenswood? But even if that was so, what did it want? Her soul? Or just to send her out of her mind?

“Too late,” she murmured.

Melanie squinted at the sky again.

There’s going to be a storm, and the old oak tree in the park is going to fall over.

The vision of the tree, blackened and broken on the ground, was so clear she could have reached out and touched it. But the next moment she was backing away from it, denying it, telling herself she had enough problems and to stop this right now.

She was so busy refusing to listen to her own inner voice that it wasn’t until she looked down at her feet that she realized she was walking. She was on the weed-strewn path that meandered past the house, in the direction of the cliffs. Melanie hadn’t been near the cliffs yet, although looking out of the windows she’d noticed the shaky-looking railing and steep stairs that led down to the small half-moon beach just below Ravenswood. The tide was out at the moment, leaving the pale sand uncovered, glistening and virgin, and very tempting.

“I should be working,” she said aloud to herself. “I have so much to do.”

But Melanie didn’t feel like working; she didn’t feel like being responsible and serious. In fact she didn’t feel like being Melanie Jones, from Foyle, Haddock and Williams. She wanted to sit on the sand and breathe in the smell of the sea. She might even roll up the legs of her navy blue cotton pants and wade in.

You’ll have to think about Pengorren soon.

But Melanie didn’t want to think about Pengorren, or the weird dream she’d had of him and the servant girl, Dorrie.
You are more powerful than I thought.
And then
there was the dream/memory from her childhood holiday here in Cornwall, the man on the beach who asked her name and put his hands on her shoulders and made her feel as if she was special. Her practical side was telling her it couldn’t possibly be the same man—Major Pengorren died in the nineteenth century, drowned in the sea, probably from this very beach. Her subconscious must have twisted the real memory into a false memory, using the face of the man she saw at the Yuletide Ball. Just as she dreamed about him and the servant girl, building on what she already knew and guessed, and making something completely imaginary from it.

Oh yes, she could rationalize it all. And if walking on the sand helped her to put all this craziness behind her, then maybe she shouldn’t fight against it. Ravenswood would still be here in an hour or so; it wasn’t going anywhere, and neither was she.

Cautiously, meticulously testing each footstep, Melanie began her descent to the beach.

Nathaniel had gone over the entire house, from cellars to attics. Apart from there being a great many more bits and pieces than he remembered—there were plenty of trunks of musty old clothes, and he helped himself—he could find nothing that shouldn’t have been there. No thick dusty book with,
What Really Happened!
written in his father’s handwriting. No letters pointing the finger at Major Pengorren.

How was this going to help him? Nathaniel thought in sudden despair. On the surface his father’s death was nothing more than a tragic accident, and then his
mother’s death had compounded it. Pengorren had been nothing if not kind and generous. That’s what everyone thought at the time, and what they still thought, if one believed
The Raven’s Curse.
Nathaniel’s memories of Spain, his suspicions about Pengorren, were unproven, and now there were hints that he was insane.

Maybe what he’d actually come back to learn was that Pengorren had won.

That’s right, Nathaniel, you’d like to give up and die, that’s your way out, isn’t it, when things get tricky?

“No, that’s not true, I won’t give in.”

Angrily, he brushed the dust off his new black trousers and stood up as best he could beneath the low attic ceiling. Teth had left pawprints in the dust on the floor, but the hound was gone now. After patiently following Nathaniel about for hours he’d suddenly lifted his head, as if someone—or something—was calling him, and then bounded off. He hadn’t returned.

Nathaniel looked through the warped and cracked glass of the attic windows, toward the sea, and saw that at least that hadn’t changed. There was a movement below, and he dropped his gaze down to the edge of the cliff. Melanie was standing there, her hand on the railing, staring anxiously at the old steps that led down to the beach. The railing looked as if it had been replaced many times since Nathaniel was a boy, but the stairs were cut into the stone cliff, worn down by the tread of countless feet.

They needed to talk about last night. He had to know what was happening here at Ravenswood and what part
Melanie was playing in it. She hadn’t told him the whole story, and he meant to convince her to do so.

When he’d found her on the stairs, she’d been terrified. Whatever it was she’d seen in the room, he felt it, too, or the essence it left behind. He’d seen many horrors in the between-worlds, and he knew that terrible things happened to good people, but the thought of something attacking Melanie…

He had his suspicions. The sense that Pengorren was aware of Melanie at the Yuletide Ball bothered him. Would the queen of the between-worlds really use Melanie as bait? He wouldn’t put anything past her, not really. Was there more going on than either Nathaniel or Melanie realized?

Despite being a soldier who had fought Napoleon, who many a time had taken aim with his pistol and sent his enemies into oblivion, this time he had no current plan of action. And it was driving him mad with frustration.

Then again, perhaps the frustration came from another source.

Why had he resisted climbing into bed with her last night? He’d wanted to, she’d been receptive, and once he would have taken advantage of her without a second thought. But he’d stopped himself. He’d lain chastely on top of the covers while she slept, all warm and soft and desirable underneath them. He’d pretended to fall asleep himself, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her or imagining what he’d like to be doing to her.

Why did he do that? Why was he wasting time? They could enjoy themselves now, live for the moment, just as he’d always done.

Except that Nathaniel no longer wanted to live like that.

Melanie began to step down the cliff, slowly and carefully, one hand on the railing. He was surprised she would attempt it at all. She was stubborn and strong, yes, but she resisted anything risky. He found himself tensing, fingers gripping the sill, and praying that the cliff steps were dry and the railing sound.

He should go after her, just to be sure.

Nathaniel left the attic without a second glance.

Melanie was sitting on the sand, arms looped about her bent knees, staring out to sea. The salty breeze had helped clear her head, but she still felt woozy. Not herself. Maybe she was coming down with something. It would almost be a relief if that was all that was wrong with her. She’d choose the flu over a malevolent manifestation any day.

“This place isn’t any different from the last time I was here.”

Melanie turned her head. Nathaniel was standing a few feet away and he’d changed his clothing. She blinked. He wore black trousers and boots that came to his knees, a white cotton shirt, open at the throat, with ruffles down the front and on the cuffs. He looked like a cross between a highwayman and a pirate. The effect was devastating.

Melanie felt something flip over inside her. “Where did you find the new clothes?”

“In the attic.” He raised his arm and sniffed his cuff. “I smell like lavender…they must have used it for the moths.”

You look like heaven.

“I found a cutlass, too, but I thought I’d better leave it up there.”

“Yes. People don’t walk around waving cutlasses these days. Unless, of course, they’re pirates.”

Nathaniel was observing her curiously, as if he wanted to read her mind. “What is it?” he asked in a deep, quiet voice. “You look different.”

“Different?”

“Yes.” He was frowning, and abruptly Melanie turned away and pretended to count the seagulls.

He sat down on the sand beside her, mirroring her pose, with knees bent, his arms draped over them, staring out to sea. She risked a glance at him, but his profile told her nothing other than that he’d used a razor.

“There’s going to be a storm,” he said.

“I know.” Melanie bit her lip as soon as the words slipped out. “I dreamed about Ravenswood last night,” she said quickly, before she could change her mind. “I went back into the past, only this time it was just me. It was the night of the Yuletide Ball, and you were there, dancing with Sophie. You looked…happy.”

Nathaniel was intent on her now; she had certainly captured his attention.

“I didn’t stay for the ball, I just looked in the door, and
then I went to the servants’ bedrooms. Major Pengorren was there with someone called Dorrie. They were having sex…” She stopped, wondering how it was possible to convey the sheer awfulness of that scene to someone who hadn’t been there.

“I remember Dorrie,” he said softly. “Curly fair hair, sweet-natured. Her father drowned, leaving a wife and several young children, and Dorrie came to work for us when she was quite young herself.”

Melanie shot him a look.

“No,” he said dryly, “I didn’t take Dorrie to my bed. She was
too
sweet for me.”

“Right,” she shrugged as if she didn’t care. “That’s what made it so horrible. She was so sweet and he was so skanky.”

He frowned. “Skanky?”

“Squirmy, horrible, nasty.”

“Ah. I see.” He thought a moment. “And yet Hew Pengorren was loved by everyone.”

“They believed they loved him. I think he made them believe it.”

“How, Melanie?” He sounded as if he was really interested in her opinion.

She waved a hand. “A magic spell?” she said, making a joke of it, but it fell flat.

He gave it his full consideration, and she wasn’t sure whether that pleased her or just embarrassed her more.

I’ve seen him before.
The words were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t speak them aloud. It was as if by not saying them she could go on pretending. Because
if she
had
seen him when she was a child, then what did that say about Pengorren and the danger she was in?

“You told me that before she left Ravenswood, Miss Pengorren replaced Major Pengorren’s portrait with my own,” he said quietly. “I was up in the attic a moment ago, but Pengorren’s portrait isn’t there. Do you know where it is?”

“No. Why?” she asked, puzzled by the connection between her dream and the portrait.

“I thought it might be significant.”

“Eddie would know where it is.” She dug her fingers into the sand beside her and let it trickle out again. “Remember, if you come face-to-face with him, then you’re a distant relative from the wrong side of the blanket. I don’t think you should try and tell him the truth. He’d get you locked up.”

His eyes narrowed. “I remember, although why I should have to explain who I am to a caretaker—”

“You’re very arrogant,” she cut him short. “The days of the lesser classes being seen and not heard are over. Most of us believe we’re all equal.”

“You sound like a French revolutionary,” he said. “Liberty, equality, fraternity!”

“Maybe the revolution wasn’t so bad.”

He snorted.

She watched him carefully, thinking he might be terminally insulted by what she’d said—after all, he was an English gentleman from the early nineteenth century, with all the hang-ups and prejudices of his time. But he wasn’t. He was smiling at her and shaking his head, and she realized that she hadn’t dented either his pride or his
self-esteem. Nathaniel Raven was confident enough to be impervious to her criticism. Well, that wasn’t a bad thing, was it? Melanie accepted that she was touchy enough for both of them.

Which made her the exact opposite to Nathaniel.

Magic.

Melanie had reacted as if he’d laugh at her suggestion, but Nathaniel had learned not to dismiss anything, no matter how far-fetched it might seem. Pengorren definitely used something to blind people to his true nature, and his true purpose, so why not a magic spell? And as for Melanie’s dream—if that was what it was—Nathaniel accepted the picture she drew of Pengorren seducing Dorrie. The man he had come to know would have had no compunction in using sweet Dorrie, just as he used Sophie and Felicity.

His gaze slid back to Melanie, and lingered. She
was
different. After her experience last night he would have expected her to be white-faced and ravaged, but instead her skin glowed, and even though the sun wasn’t shining, her hair was. When she turned her head, strands of it drifted out, gleaming like liquid gold.

His heart began to beat in a slow and sensual rhythm, as if in response to some invisible siren’s call.

Did she feel it, too? She was staring out to sea. They were sitting close together, so near they were almost touching, and yet a chasm lay between them.
Work together,
the queen said. Nathaniel had resisted her demands but now he was getting desperate. His time was running out, and soon it would be too late.

“The thought of your seeing Pengorren in your sleep makes me extremely uncomfortable,” he said, trying for the honest approach. It had worked before.

She laughed without humor. “Here’s something that will make you even more uncomfortable. In my dream last night he called me by my name.”

Unfamiliar cold anger built inside him. “It’s almost as if he’s set his sights on you, Melanie. As if, for reasons we still don’t understand, he is calling to you from the past.”

“But that’s impossible, surely? The idea of Pengorren’s sending messages through time…” She shivered, and a breeze hissed in from the water, stirring her hair. She pushed it back. “Last night in my dream, it was as if he was playing a role. He was there with Dorrie, doing what he did in 1813, and at the same time he was fully aware of me and who I was. Just like you, Nathaniel, when I went back through time. You were there, being Nathaniel Raven in 1813, and yet you knew you were taking part in a scene that was nearly two hundred years in the past.” She took a deep, uneven breath. “There’s something else. I should have told you this first, but I didn’t want to believe it…” She frowned. “It’s about Pengorren. I’ve met him. Not at the Yuletide Ball. It was when I was a child, here on the beach in
Cornwall. He came up to me and asked my name, and when he touched me I felt as if he was drawing out my strength, my being, my…my soul, for want of a better word. I only remembered this after my dream last night, and at first I thought my brain was confusing the faces, that I was making it up. But I’m not. It was definitely him. I must have blocked it out, or pushed it to the back of my mind, but last night I remembered everything. It was Pengorren, and that’s why he knows me,” she finished bleakly.

“You think that’s why you’re here now? Because of your connection with Pengorren?”

“Yes.”

“You think he’s able to move back and forth through time?”

She glanced away, out to sea again. “Yes, I do.” Her mouth was set in a line, her hands clasped tightly between her knees.

“We have to face this, whatever it is. We need to be prepared.” He wrapped his fingers around her arm and found she was rigid with tension beneath the sleeve of her top.

“It’s my imagination,” her voice trembled.

“Melanie, your imagination can’t hurt you.”

She gave a disbelieving laugh as she turned to him. “Then what’s happening to me? I’m seeing things, hearing things. It can’t be right.”

Nathaniel took her face between his hands. “I don’t know what’s happening to you, Melanie, but whatever it is we’re in it together.”

“Are we?” Her voice was husky with suppressed emotion.

“Yes. You and me. Together we’ll get to the bottom of this mystery, and defeat Pengorren.”

“So then you can regain what’s rightfully yours,” she said, as if reciting a fairy tale, “and we can all live happily ever after.”

“You in your time, and me in mine.”

She smiled, but he could see it was an effort—her lips trembled. Whether she admitted it or not, Melanie was terrified, and he’d always been drawn to beautiful women in distress.

“I want to kiss you,” he said, and wondered why he was stupid enough to warn her. Now she’d tell him no.

She blinked, and then she reached out her hand and touched his mouth with her fingertips. “Go on then,” she whispered.

Nathaniel bent his head and claimed her mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. Her lips responded, returning his pressure, her mouth opening to his. Her arms slid around his neck, and she clung to him. She tasted sweet, as sweet as he’d remembered, and for a moment the kiss overwhelmed him. He forgot everything but wanting to push her back onto the sand and be inside her.

“Melanie,” he murmured, and kissed her cheeks, her eyelids.

“I don’t understand any of this,” she said, and now she was shaking. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me, or why. I’m afraid. I’m afraid of you and myself, and of Pengorren. That thing in the room—”

“We’ll come through this,” he said harshly, as if he really believed it. He held her away, feeling the siren pull of her and resisting it, and when he looked into her eyes he was impressing upon her his own confidence.

He believed in himself. And knowing it gave her courage. He might be the Raven, the reckless and daring highwayman, but he was also Captain Raven, the brave and gallant officer. And most important of all he was Nathaniel, who had come from the past to make everything right for those he loved.

He was a hero.

Why didn’t she realize that before?

“We’ll work together,” she said, with hardly a tremor.

“Yes, we will.”

Melanie looked into his eyes a moment more, and then she smiled. “Come on then,” she said, getting to her feet, “I need to be doing something.” She turned toward the steps, calling back over her shoulder, “I’ll go and speak to Eddie about the portrait.”

Nathaniel followed her up the cliff steps. “You’d think Miss Pengorren would have been proud of her namesake, so why take his portrait down in favor of an infamous highwayman’s? What did she learn, and how?”

Melanie remembered then she hadn’t told him about the entries in the diary, and updated him quickly.

“But we still don’t know who or what was visiting her in the night?”

“Maybe she told Eddie?” Melanie said.

“She was probably too proud, or too frightened, to admit anything was wrong.”

“If it was the thing I saw last night, then I could understand her being frightened. But she also seemed to be drawn to whatever it was that was visiting her. As if she was revolted and yet fascinated at the same time.”

They reached the top of the cliff. Nathaniel moved closer, but this time he resisted kissing her. “Go and see Eddie.”

“Okay.”

“Melanie, there’s something I should tell you.” His eyes were very serious. “I don’t know how long I have before I have to go back to the between-worlds. I don’t think it will be infinite.”

“But…” She shook her head. “God, Nathaniel, we haven’t found out anything!”

“We have. We’re making progress. I have hopes we will accomplish our task.”

Melanie felt as if she’d been for a ride on a roller-coaster and left her stomach behind. “When? I mean, when is your time up? Does a gong sound or something? Do you get a warning, or do you just vanish?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”

“Fabulous,” she muttered, so shaken she just wanted to get away from him.

“Are you all right?”

“No. No, I’m not.”

“Melanie, I promise you, I will see you safe…”

But she left him there, walking quickly toward Eddie’s cottage. She’d known he wouldn’t be here forever, but she’d thought it would be months. Maybe even years. Now he was telling her it could be much sooner. She still felt the heat of his mouth on hers!

She didn’t know whether to feel angry or frustrated, or just plain miserable.

Eddie’s cottage was made of the same grey stone as the house. Smoke trickled from the chimney and the upper windows were curtained, but Eddie would be downstairs by now anyway. Melanie could hear the clack of his keyboard as she knocked, and then it stopped, and after a pause the door opened. Melanie blinked. Today he was wearing an Hawaiian shirt, complete with girls in grass skirts, and his hair was standing up as if he’d been running his hands through it. But his smile was friendly, and his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

Or maybe he just wanted to knock off work.

“How’s the book going?”

He grimaced. “I’m too far into it to be able to tell.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in her pallor. “You all right? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” The irrepressible smile was back again. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.”

“There was a rat in my room last night. It kept me awake.”

“Oh. Not much I can do about them, and I have tried. Miss Pengorren used to go on at me about vermin, but she stopped toward the end. Must have got used to them.”

Or maybe she found something worse to worry about
.

“Have you had anything published?” she asked politely, as he closed the door behind her.

Eddie shook his head. “I was close but then Dan Brown had the same idea as me.” He winked, to show he was joking. “No, I’m afraid my stuff isn’t on the bestseller lists yet. I’ll live with it. How is it going with Ravenswood? I know there’s a ton of stuff in there, and some of it must be worth something. Pity there were no heirs. She left everything to charity, didn’t she?”

“Yes. I rang Mr. Trewartha in Launceston. I’m expecting him in the next few days. He’s retired, but he’s familiar with Ravenswood, so he’s going to make an exception for us and take a look. I’m hoping he’ll agree to list the contents and give us some evaluations—”

“Trewartha?” He thought for a moment and then shook his head. “Sounds familiar for some reason, but nothing to do with antiques. I don’t know anything about antiques.”

Melanie eyed his shirt but decided not to comment.

Eddie gave her a pensive look. “You realize that when Ravenswood’s gone, I’ll be out of a job.”

“I know, and I am sorry. Have you anywhere else you can—”

“I have a sister in Scotland. It won’t be like living here, though, with Miss Pengorren.” He smiled. “She had a nasty tongue on her, tore strips off me sometimes, but you couldn’t help but admire her spirit.”

“You said you were born on the wrong side of the Pengorren blanket,” she reminded him, hoping he’d elaborate.

Eddie was pleased to accommodate her. “That’s right, I was. Long way back, though. Major Pengorren
was my dubious ancestor. He impregnated half of Cornwall in his time. Right Don Juan he was.”

She should have known; so much for the wedded bliss between Sophie and the major. Maybe it was Dorrie who was Eddie’s great-great-whatever-grandmother, although looking at him she couldn’t see much of Dorrie’s sweet blond looks in Eddie’s pleasant but plain features.

“Do you know very much about Major Pengorren?”

“I think he was well liked. Maybe he was one of those lovable rascals that no one can refuse. No woman, anyway,” he ended wryly, as if he envied the major his skill.

“Maybe.”

But that didn’t seem right to her. Pengorren wasn’t a lovable rascal, not from the snippets she had seen of him. He was an evil man, someone you would never turn your back on.

“You mentioned last night that there was a portrait of Pengorren that used to hang in the stairwell. You said that Miss Pengorren replaced it with the one of Nathaniel Raven.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I can’t find it. It’s not in the attic. I was wondering whether you’d seen it around.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, and then slowly his face turned red. “Oh bugger,” he whispered. “I borrowed it before she went away. I have it here. I thought it might give me some inspiration. For my book, you know? You’ll think I was going to steal it. You do, don’t you?”

He was so genuinely mortified by his oversight that
Melanie did her best to make the right reassuring sounds. “Perhaps you could give it to me now,” she suggested, after he’d apologized again. “I could take it back with me and—”

“God no, I’ll dust it off and bring it over for you. I swear, I never meant to…” Eddie was clearly terribly embarrassed by the whole matter.

“Eddie, I believe you.” She didn’t feel like pushing it. She was tired, and her head was aching again. “Just tell me this. Did Miss Pengorren ever mention dreams? Unpleasant dreams? Did she ever see anyone in the house at night?”

He’s genial face lost its humor and became almost serious. “You’re talking about her diary,” he said. “I read that, too.”

“You
read
her diary?”

He gave her a guilty glance. “I probably shouldn’t have, but I’m related, remember, and I was fond of her. I suppose I was curious, too, when she went to that nursing home in London after she’d always sworn to me she wouldn’t. I was hoping there might be something in her diary to explain her change of heart.”

“But there wasn’t?”

“No. Unless whatever…whoever was coming to her in the night was reason enough for her to want to go.”

“A ghost?”

“Why not? Ravenswood is an old house with a sad history. The Ravens weren’t a happy family, and then the Pengorrens had their share of tragedy, too. Take a
look at the genealogy chart in the back of that book in the library,
The Raven’s Curse,
and you’ll see what I mean.”

“I will. Don’t forget the portrait.”

“I won’t. Actually I’ll be glad to get rid of Pengorren. Lately, he’s been giving me the creeps.”