The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead (9 page)

“That sort of hypocrisy is why I’d teach my charges to see and understand what
is
rather than what
should
be.”

He laughed, backed away and bowed. “Your point, I think.” Then he paused. “May I have that lovely pale pink rose?”

“Why?”

“I wish to take it to Jenna-mine of course.”

She eyed him. “Why?”

“Because I like her?”

Verity reached for not only the pink rose but a white one as well and then some greenery. With a deft twist, a cut, a bow…suddenly she held a sweet little posy. She looked up at him. “Because I like her too,” she said and handed it to him.

She didn’t see the warmth that grew in his eyes as he looked at the back she turned on him. Nor the softening of his expression. Or the odd little double nod of his head as if he’d finally accepted something he’d not yet understood—or not wished to understand.

But she heard him depart by way of the house and almost, but not quite, wished he’d not gone.

* * * * *

“Nowhere. She can’t be nowhere.”

The voice had risen with each word and was shrill enough at the last to hurt the slave’s ears. He winced—then hoped his master had not noticed. Not that the man noticed much of anything these days. “She isn’t where we’ve looked so far. I have handed out the second list. That will be checked in less than a week.”

“We have lost her. She is nowhere. Nowhere.” The emaciated opium-eater bent his head into his hands and rocked from one side to the other, repeating the word over and over as he did so.

“We will find her.”

“She is nowhere. Oh me, oh my. I am lost. Lost. He will have my head. He will cut off my fingers one by one. He will—” A sob launched another series of the litany. “Nowhere. She is nowhere…”

The slave backed from the room, moving slowly, carefully, silently. It didn’t do to attract attention. Not these days. Not when the master was somnolent under the influence of the drug or, if not drowsing in a drugged dream, then too easily irritated and irrational with it.

The slave frowned, staring through the narrowing crack of the door he closed as carefully and slowly as he could manage.

“Nowhere…nowhere…”

He shook his head. It couldn’t be much longer before death claimed his master. Then what? What could he do? What should he do? Worry fretted him as he returned to the tiny room he used as an office and stared around it. There was no heat and it was cold.

He shuddered. “Will I never be warm again? I want to go
home
,” he said softly, sadly.

Chapter Seven

Verity looked up. She felt a sudden warmth welling up inside her at the sight of Jacob standing in the doorway and—automatically denying it was caused by his unexpected appearance—she frowned. “What do you want?”

“You have worked long enough. Cousin Mary wishes you to join her in a nuncheon.”

“I’ve work to do.”

“There is nothing you have to do. Or there are others who will do it if you tell them what is to be done. Besides, isn’t there an under-housekeeper whose duty it is to see to things if the housekeeper is incapacitated? Allow the woman to do her job.”

“She cannot deal with the accounts. Not if you want them to balance. And that must be done if you do not want chaos. Nor can she deal with servant problems. She knows the work and she can tell the maids what to do and when, but any sort of crisis and she is lost. And why do I bother to explain?”

“You are cross. One becomes cross when hungry. Come to the small dining room and keep your aunt company. She has things she wishes to discuss with you.” He held open the door and, after another moment’s hesitation, Verity threw down her pen. Ink spattered over the page and, quietly, she cursed.

Jacob chuckled. “You truly did receive a rather interesting education, did you not?” he asked, referring to what she’d told him a few days previously in the rose garden. “I doubt very much your mother, or even your father, would approve that vocabulary if they could know of it.”

Verity closed her mouth into a tight line. She glared at Jacob as she rose from her chair and rounded the end of the huge desk her aunt had had brought into her office next to the housekeeper’s rooms. “My education is not your business.”

“No. But I like it that you’ve had a rather eclectic upbringing. You are not boring. Ever.”

“It is
not
,” she said, “my purpose to entertain you.” At some level, she knew she lied and that knowledge made Verity still angrier. She hadn’t a notion why she should find this particular man, of all men, far more attractive than any other. That she did irked her. She’d no business wishing for his company, his conversation, his… Verity felt a blush rising up her chest and into her neck and blessed the fact she’d put on a dress that morning with a high collar and a ruffle of lace that framed her face. With any luck he’d not notice her blush…and, noticing, wonder why…

“Come,” he said, offering his arm.

Reluctantly, Verity laid the tips of her fingers on his wrist and walked beside him down the hall. Soon they approached the room where the family dined. She could think of nothing to say and the silence seemed overly loud to her. She glanced up and instantly faced forward. He was looking down at her, smiling at her, a look in his eyes she couldn’t interpret. It wasn’t the sort of look she’d occasionally seen in a man’s eyes. She wasn’t pretty enough or properly womanly enough to rouse lust in many men, but the occasional male had looked at her in a hot knowing way she disliked intensely—and that sort of heat wasn’t what she’d seen in that moment’s clash of glances.

She’d seen warmth—a warmth she didn’t understand. A warmth that must mean something. Verity told herself she didn’t wish to know what. But knowing she lied to herself, she dropped her hand to her side and stepped forward at a slightly faster pace.

Whatever that particular look meant, it was not relevant. She was Aunt Jenna’s niece and she must not forget it. Jacob Moorhead would never feel for her what she wanted a man to feel for her—or if he did, he’d suggest a relationship she would never accept for any reason at all. Even if she were starving, she’d not become a man’s mistress…

“Aunt Mary, you asked to see me?” she said briskly as she entered the room.

Jacob paused in the doorway, saw Mary shake her head at him and backed away. But, despicable as he knew it to be, wanting to hear what was said, he didn’t close the door. He leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a frown creasing his forehead. Eavesdropping was not something of which he approved. Still…

“Sit down, Verity.”

Verity obeyed, but on the edge of her chair with her hands folded in her lap and an air about her of one who would be off again at any moment.

Mary motioned to the footman to fill a plate and bring it to her niece. Then she looked at the young woman. “Oh, do relax.” Mary’s mouth compressed. “There is nothing urgent calling for your attention and what I have to say will take more than an instant.”

Verity grimaced, slid an inch back on the chair and refused to even look at the food set before her. She kept her eyes on her aunt.

After a thoughtful moment, Mary dismissed the footman. When he’d gone, she said, “I very much dislike this pretense to servitude. You have adopted an attitude that is as false as it is absurd. It is more than time you stopped playing games.”

Verity’s mouth thinned to match Mary’s. “I have no notion what you mean. Pretense?”

“This
pretense
, my dear, that you are not your grandfather’s granddaughter.”

“From his point of view, I’m no better than a by-blow,” muttered Verity.

Mary’s mouth opened. She blinked and closed it and then tried again. “Did you say what I think you said?” she asked, a laugh trembling through the words.

“Very likely. This is not a subject I wish to discuss.”

The laughter faded instantly. “It is one we will nevertheless deal with and now.
Sit properly
.”

Verity sat back but obviously unhappily, angrily and unwillingly.

“You are a legitimate offspring of this house, Verity. Pretending you are not is insulting to everyone who knows you.”

Verity blinked. “I am the legitimate offspring of
a maid from this household
.”

Mary harrumphed. “True.” The two women glared at each other. Then, with a seeming change of subject, Mary asked, “Do you wish your Aunt Jenna’s death on your hands?”

“You know I do not.” Verity, the change throwing her off guard, straightened her already rigid spine. “What can you mean?”

“Do you think she has no wish that you take your proper place here? That you cease playing at being a servant? That you do whatever is necessary to introduce yourself to the neighborhood society and become one of them?”

“I am the penniless orphan of a disinherited—”

“Wrong. Penniless perhaps, but your father was not disinherited. Your grandfather, as I know you know, reinstated him as his heir.”

“But my mother was never accepted as his wife,” said Verity stubbornly.

“Do you have any notion just how much you sound like my father?”

Verity jerked back. Her eyes widened. “
Nonsense
.”

“Just as stubborn. Just as determined to never ever change your mind about anything, never to give a single inch! Compromise. You think it a nasty word, do you not?
Just
like your grandfather.”

Verity bit her lip, chagrined at the notion she might be anything like the man she despised as a hardhearted blackguard.

“He is
dead
, Verity.”

In the hall, a whisper reached Jacob’s ear, a muttered,
Well
…
sort of dead
.

“You cannot harm him by continuing to flout him. You harm only yourself.”

Verity looked away, glanced back at her aunt’s determined expression and then sighed. She relaxed slightly. “You are correct, of course. In part, at least. But I’ve held a grudge against him for so long I don’t know if I can change.”

“Your mother was happy, Verity. All those years she and your father had together, they were
happy
.”

Verity once again looked away. “Very happy.”

“Then why are you concerned about something that never happened? Yes, your grandfather refused to accept her, but he regretted that later. He missed out on so much he’d have enjoyed. His grandchildren, for instance.”

“He liked my sister.” Verity grimaced. “My sister toadied to him.”

“He may have liked her, but he admires you—admired, I mean.”

“Why do you and my aunt keep pretending he’s not here?” asked Verity.

“Jenna has told me she… But for
me
he
is
gone,” said Mary, a depth of sadness to be heard. “I suppose I thought he’d live forever and cannot accept he’s dead.”

Verity laughed but there was no humor in it. “Dead and buried…but still discussing me with my aunt and Mr. Moorhead.” She sighed when Mary merely arched her brows. “If he has something to say, I wish he’d say it to me.”

“I’ve never heard him speak, Verity. If he
is
haunting this house, he hasn’t wanted to speak to me.”

In the hall, the voice, speaking in Jacob’s ear, said,
I
’
ve tried
.
The both of them are deaf to me
.

“There is another thing, Verity. It is also time you stopped treating Jacob as a pariah.”

Verity gasped. “I have done no such thing.”

“You certainly don’t treat him as a cousin.”

“He is—”

Again she was interrupted. “He is owner of this property, or will be once the year is up, and you are his guest and should begin acting as such. As Jenna already accepts. Once again, do you want what is best for Jenna or do you not?”

Verity sighed. “Of course I do. And if it is a condition that I treat him with courtesy so that she may be treated with courtesy—”

“Verity!”

“Aunt, do not demand the impossible.”

Jacob, sighing softly, shook his head. He pushed away from the wall, moved away.

“There is still another thing,” said Mary after a moment in which the two glared at each other.

“Yes?”

“We need to hire a housekeeper for Jacob.”

“Emma…”

“Is, as both you and Jenna admit, incapable of taking over. What is more, she doesn’t wish it. I’ve asked her.”

A muscle twitched in Verity’s jaw. “Aunt Mary, I know nothing about hiring help here in England. If it is left up to me, I will tell Reading he is to do it and leave it at that.”

Mary smiled. “I think I can do a trifle better. You and I will take a little jaunt into York and interview such women as are available for the position.”

Verity frowned. After a moment and diffidently, she asked, “
Should
you go?”

Mary didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “I do not allow myself to be frightened of bogies to the point I cannot live a reasonably normal life. Rube will see to organizing it.”

Verity hesitated and then nodded. “So we go…when?”

“I believe if we leave Thursday, we can have all of Friday and Saturday to deal with business. We’ll attend services at the Minster on Sunday and return early Monday.”

Verity shook her head, a slight sharp shake.

“What is wrong?”

“You would be gone four days?”

“You are worrying about Jenna, but she is much better, you know. One huge worry is off her mind now I’ve come to chaperon you. Yesterday she sat up on the chaise lounge for an hour and will for still longer today. She will get stronger every day, Verity. She no longer needs you hovering over her.”

Verity looked into the distance. “I should like to attend services at the Minster, Aunt.”

“Good. Now,” said Mary as she rose to her feet, “I must talk to Rube.”

* * * * *

“She is found.” The slave looked at the wall above his master’s head, wondering if the words would penetrate the drug-befogged mind.

“Found?” A sudden flurry of movement and the master, panting at the exertion required, sat up. “
Found
.”

“I have set spies to watch her.”

“Where?”

“In the north.”

“Her father’s estate. As I said.”

The slave, instantly kneeling, offered obeisance. “Oh, perfect master,” he said in their own language.

“Bah. On your feet. That missive…” He referred to a messenger who had arrived the night before. “Word has come. The king grows impatient. There are new orders. She is to be taken, brought to him. And quickly. The messenger said he’s not well. You will see to it.” He collapsed back against his pillows, the surge of energy exhausted.

“I hear and obey,” said the slave. “I will send—”

“You will
go
north.” The words were spoken so softly the slave bent nearer, fearing he’d miss something. “You will see to it yourself. You must hurry.”

“But…leave you?” asked the slave, frightened. His master was, he feared, very near death.

“Capture her. Escort her to our king.” The man’s eyes closed. “You. You must do it. I am done…” He sighed and fell into a doze, exhausted after only that small amount of exertion.

“But who will see to you?” whispered the slave.

The heavy lids lifted. “It will soon be unnecessary for anyone to see to me.” With effort he searched the folds of his gown…and pulled out an envelope. “My end is near. I would have it so. You will discharge the servants, close up these rooms—”