The Phantom Lover (11 page)

“Rubbish! Your speech gives you away. But never mind that now. I've just realized something. You say that the rules make it impossible for you to touch me, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Then how can you claim I am in danger? You cannot be a danger to me if you can't touch me,” she declared triumphantly.

“A ghost has ways, without using touch. Many ways. That's why you must go … as soon as possible.”

“What ways?” Nell asked.

“I shall now take my leave,” he said, his voice deepening and taking on a ghostly monotone. “Just remember … you must go-o-o-o-o-o …”

The ghost slowly faded from view. “But
wait
, Mr. D'Espry!” she called after him. “You haven't explained—! Mr. D'Esp—? Harry! Come back!”

But he was gone. The room was in complete darkness. Nell didn't bother to look behind the curtains. She knew she would find nothing. But the “ghost” had given her much to think about. Who was he? And of what was he trying to warn her? Was he, as she suspected, a trespasser who wanted her out of the house? Was he truly a danger to her? And how had he created those frightening illusions of floating candles and ghostly presences?

She slid down under the comforter and snuggled into the pillows. Her pulse was racing, but she could not tell if the pounding in her blood was caused by fear or excitement. There was only one thing she knew with certainty: she had not the slightest intention of leaving this house, no matter what danger loomed before her. She was having much too beguiling a time.

Chapter Seven

G
WINNYS TAPPED LIGHTLY
on Miss Belden's door and, without waiting for an acknowledgement, went in. After more than two weeks of service to the ladies of Thorndene, she knew what to expect. Miss Belden would be awake and stationed at the window, as usual, watching for the mysterious early morning horseman. It was her morning ritual. Miss Belden had revealed to Gwinnys, in the strictest confidence, her suspicions that the rider was a trespasser, hiding under this very roof.

Gwinnys, energetic, curious and not at all lacking in courage, had frequently suggested to her young mistress (of whom she had grown very fond, and to whom she felt a strong loyalty) that they search the house. But the young Miss had not seemed to take a real interest in the suggestion. Although it was quite clear that Miss Nell was eager to discover what she could about the trespasser, she seemed, on the other hand, to wish to avoid any action which would disturb their precariously balanced coexistence. She could have hidden herself in the stables and confronted the man on any morning during the past fortnight, but she had not wanted to do so. And Gwinnys had told her more than once that she had seen Mrs. Penloe go up a staircase behind the kitchen, carrying a loaded tray, but Miss Nell had not gone to explore the stairway and had forbidden Gwinnys to do so. The young abigail could not have put her feelings into words, but she understood instinctively that Miss Belden wanted to hold on to the magic and romance of the unsolved riddle. A mystery, once it is solved, is nothing more than a group of facts which must be dealt with. Gwinnys suspected that her beautiful, lively mistress was enjoying the mystery too much to wish to solve it.

Miss Nell was indeed standing at the window. Gwinnys came up behind her. “There's naught to see out there, Miss Nell,” she remarked, “with the mist so thick.”

Nell sighed. “Yes, you're right. Besides, the rain is too heavy for anyone to ride in. I may as well give up for today.”

Gwinnys busied herself readying Nell's clothes while Nell made her ablutions in the icy water from the pitcher on her nightstand. “Tell me, Gwinnys,” she asked, toweling her face briskly, “have you had an opportunity to ask Mrs. Penloe about her family?”

“Ais, I did an' all,” Gwinnys nodded, “but 'twas a waste o' time. She says she has a sister lives at Carthamartha, and Will as a deal o' relations—brothers and sisters and what-all—but none as is a proper fit to our man.”

“If ‘our man' is
not
a relation to the Penloes,” Nell mused, stepping out of her nightgown with a shiver, “I cannot conceive of who he can be.”

“I've asked 'ee afore,” Gwinnys pointed out, “to come wi' me up the back stairs, or to let me go alone. Here, let me help 'ee into that petticoat—you're all of a shrim.”

“Well, who wouldn't shiver on so cold a morning?” Nell said, hurrying into her clothes. She turned her back on the girl so that Gwinnys could button the back of her burgundy-colored muslin dress. It was a good choice for this chilly day, with its long sleeves and high-necked, gathered bodice, for it gave warmth without being as heavy or scratchy as wool. While Gwinnys devoted her attention to the tiny buttons at the back, Nell's thoughts reverted back to her abigail's suggestion. “As for those back stairs, Gwinnys,” she said firmly, “I insist that you stop nagging at me about them. I do not wish for a confrontation with our trespasser—at least, not yet. When I've made up my mind about how to handle the situation, I shall let you know.”

Gwinnys shrugged. “I mind what you say, Miss Nell. No need to be sniffy.”

“I'm not being ‘sniffy' at all. I just want to be sure that you don't take it into your head to explore those back stairs without my permission.”

“Don't trouble yourself about
that,
” Gwinnys assured her. “I'm too timmersome to do it alone.”

“
Timmersome
!” Nell exclaimed with a smile. “Is that your Cornish way of saying ‘timid'? You, my girl, have not a timmersome bone in your body!”

Gwinnys ignored the teasing, completed the buttoning and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There you be, all buttoned.” She circled her mistress admiringly. “An' I'd
lay
you be a pretty sight! You look
tremmin
!”

“Tremmin?” Nell asked. “Another of your Cornish barbarisms? What does it mean?”

“It means, Miss, that you're a sight for sore eyes, as any man who saw 'ee would agree.”

“Well, thank you, Gwinnys,” Nell said with a little, mocking bow. She stepped into her sturdy half-boots and went to the door. “But as Jemmy Penloe is the only unmarried male who is likely to see me, it hardly seems worth all your effort.”

It was a long, dreary day, the westerly wind whipping up to gale force by nightfall. Amelia and Nell sat near the fire after dinner, passing the time playing backgammon and trying to ignore the howl of the wind in the chimney. Mrs. Penloe, assisted by Gwinnys, brought the tea tray at ten as usual. It had become a habit to take their tea and retire, but tonight Amelia asked Nell to play another game. Nell complied, telling Gwinnys not to wait up for them.

When she at last entered her bedroom, it was almost midnight. She was struggling with the undoing of her buttons when the ghost appeared. She had not expected him quite so soon and gave a little cry of surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” the ghost said politely. “I seem to have startled you.”

“Well, isn't that what ghosts are supposed to do?” Nell asked saucily.

“Yes, that's true. But it's been many days since I've been able to arouse any sort of proper reaction from you. You've grown quite complacent in my presence.”

“Yes, I have, haven't I? I suppose that means you are not succeeding very well in your ghostly role.”

“I am a positive failure,” the ghost agreed ruefully. “If word of this leaks out among the society of ghosts, shades and phantoms, I shall not be able to hold up my head.”

“I most sincerely feel for you,” Nell said with patent insincerity. She picked up her hairbrush, took down her hair, which had been pulled back in a tidy knot at the back of her head, and began to brush vigorously.

“This is the first time I've seen you dressed,” the ghost remarked. “I must say you look …” he hesitated for a word.

“Tremmin?” Nell offered.

“Yes, indeed. Tremmin! The very word.”

Nell turned and peered at the faint light behind the curtain, where the shadowy, now-familiar figure of Harry D'Espry stood watching her. “Oh? Do you know that word?” she asked curiously. “It's a Cornish coinage, I think.”

“Of course I know it. I
was
a true Cornishman, you know.”

“Were you? That's another one of your claims which I'm inclined to doubt.”

“Why do you doubt me?”

“Your speech. It has always puzzled me. It seems excessively cultivated, for a smuggler.”

“That is quite easily explained. The language was spoken with more polish a century ago, for one thing. For another, I've haunted a number of the gentry all these years, and their ways rub off on one. Ais, 'tis a lot I've learned, to be sure, but I reckon I ben't such a jinny-ninny that I cain't bring the owld words to m' tongue.”

Nell giggled. “You did that very well. I could
almost
believe that you were a Cornishman if you spoke that way consistently.”

Harry sighed. “What a suspicious female you are, to be sure. Is there
nothing
I say that you believe?”

“Nothing,” Nell said bluntly.

“But you
must
believe that you are tremmin, my dear. Your dress is a lovely color—it suits you. It's like wine. It makes your cheeks glow.”

The hand wielding the hairbrush wavered. Harry's compliment had thrown Nell into confusion. Although the shadow behind the curtain seemed very like a ghost, Nell had no doubt the illusion was created by a real man, a person with the abilities, qualities and feelings of any living man. There was an attraction between them—a spark that flamed up from time to time so brightly that it broke into her consciousness. Ordinarily, she would let herself forget his reality and simply accept, and enjoy, the ghost-visits. But when the spark ignited between them, she became uncomfortably aware that this was her
bedroom
, that he visited her here
nightly
, and that she was permitting a grossly improper relationship to develop. If she had any character, if she were not a wild, irresponsible, shockingly fast female, she would force a confrontation with this imposter, make him admit his crimes (whatever they were) and turn him over to the magistrates.

But she could not do it—not yet. His nightly visits were her only source of pleasure in this cold, dreary place. She counted the hours each day until she could retire and wait for him. When he was with her, something bubbled inside—something which was a heady combination of excitement, nervousness and laughter. Every once in a while, he would remind her that he represented a danger that loomed over her, but she never felt threatened. They were comfortable together, as if they'd been friends for years. Nell began to realize that her life had been a lonely one—she had no sisters or brothers, and her guardians had not encouraged her to make intimate friendships. For the first time in her life, she had found someone she could talk to in intimate, honest exchanges. She did not want to give up this experience.

“What is it, girl?” Harry asked suddenly. “Have I said something to upset you?”

She shook her head and resumed brushing. “No, not at all. It's only that you make me uncomfortable when you … flirt with me.”

“Flirt with you? Is
that
what I'm doing? Nay, lass, that can't be so. I'm only a ghost, after all. There can't be any such nonsense between you and me.”

“Can't there?” Nell asked, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Are you sure of that?”

“Are you disbelieving me again? Of course I'm sure.”

She eyed him speculatively for a moment. Then a gleam of mischief flickered in her expression. She put her hands behind her and began to struggle with her buttons. “Sometimes it's too bad that you're a ghost,” she sighed.

“Why?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Well, if you were real, you could help me with these.”

“With what?” the ghost asked. “What
are
you doing?”

She turned her back to him, to show him. “I'm undoing these blasted buttons, you see? There are dozens of them. If you were real, you could—”

“But why are you undoing them
now
?” the ghost asked in some chagrin.

“Why not now?” Nell asked, turning an innocent face in his direction.

“Because … because …” Harry muttered uncomfortably.

“Well?” she insisted, continuing to undo the buttons.

“I say!” he exclaimed, outraged. “You don't mean to undress while I'm
here
, do you?”

“Of course I do. You're only a ghost, after all. You can't touch me or flirt with me, or—”

“Never mind all that. It is not
proper
to—”

“Don't be silly,” she insisted. “You told me yourself that you can see through walls. Therefore you've probably been seeing through my
clothes
all this time. Surely there's no need
now
for me to behave like a simpering miss—!”

“Good Lord, woman!” the ghost exclaimed, sputtering. “You surely don't believe that I've been …
oggling
you through your clothes all this time! Like … like a blasted Peeping Tom!”

“What else am I to think?” she asked with exaggerated reasonableness. “I've become quite accustomed to the thought of it by now. So there's no need to fall into a taking over my undressing, is there? Not after all this time.” Most of the buttons had, by this time, been unhooked, and Nell daringly pulled the gown from her left shoulder.

“Nell,” Harry growled, “you go too far.
Stop that
!”

Nell merely tossed her head and bared her shoulder even more.

“Very
well
. Miss,” Harry said furiously, “I bid you
goodnight
!” And he faded away.

Nell laughed. “Oh, very well, Harry, I'll stop.” She pulled the dress back up to her neck and quickly rebuttoned the back. “You can come back now.”