Three Graces (29 page)

‘I - er - didn’t touch it.’

Carys frowned. ‘It’s very important that you don’t handle the books.’

‘I said, I didn’t touch it.’

The burly man stepped forward. ‘There’s one on the floor,’ he said.

‘I know there’s one on the floor, you great oaf, but it wasn’t put there by me.’

There was a moment of frosty silence and then everybody began to speak at once.

‘It’s her! She’s back - The Blue Lady.’

‘Look, lady, I’ve just about had enough of you ruining our tour.’

‘What would I want with these useless books? They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on.’

‘These are valuable heirlooms and you have to respect them.’

‘I’ve never met such a rude lady.’

‘I’ve never been so insulted in my life,’ Natasha said, her voice rising angrily above everyone else’s. ‘There’s something going on here. I’ve been the victim of some trick and I intend to find out exactly what.’ And, with that, she strode out of the room. The rest of the tour group stared in wide-eyed disbelief, their mouths dropping open as they heard a series of screams coming from the direction in which she’d gone.

‘What an extraordinary lady,’ Carys said.

‘Thank goodness she’s gone,’ the burly man said. ‘I thought I was going to have to knock her for six.’

‘So did I,’ Carys said, and everybody laughed. ‘Right, shall we continue?’

Twenty minutes later, the tour had ended and everybody agreed it had been a stunning success and promised to tell all their friends and family.

As Carys stood by the front porch, waving goodbye to everyone, she knew Roberta would be in the middle of the second tour and that she herself had a good long break until the next one that afternoon. She smiled to herself. Even with the intrusion of Natasha, it had all gone far more smoothly than she could ever have hoped and this gave her a glow of confidence. She was actually looking forward to the next tour group.

‘And so you should.’

Carys did a double take as she walked into her office a moment later. ‘What?’ she asked.

‘Feel proud of yourself,’ Georgiana said, drifting out of her blue haze and settling into the armchair by the fireplace.

‘My goodness,’ Carys flopped into the chair next to Georgiana’s. She didn’t feel like sitting at her desk. ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you did.’

‘What did I do?’ Georgiana asked.

Carys grinned. ‘You know what you did.’

‘What?’ Georgiana looked puzzled. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you are talking about.’

Carys frowned. ‘On the tour,’ she said. ‘With Natasha - like we agreed.’

Georgiana looked at Carys for a moment, her eyes vague and uncomprehending. ‘Carys - I do not know what you mean.’

‘Rubbish! That was you, wasn’t it?’

There was a moment of silence when the two women just stared at one another. And then Georgiana burst out laughing.

‘You rotten thing!’ Carys said. ‘You had me going there for a moment.’

‘You should have seen your face,’ Georgiana laughed. ‘What a picture.’

‘Don’t ever do that again. I thought we had another ghost to contend with.’

‘Heaven forbid.’

Carys sighed and shook her head, and then she bit her lip. ‘You don’t think things will backfire with Natasha, do you?’

‘I don’t think you need to worry about her any more She’s learnt her lesson.’

‘I hope so.’

Georgiana nodded. ‘I must say that I was a little concerned with that young woman in the white trousers. She seemed very in tune with the spirit world. I felt sure she was going to spot me.’

‘I did too. She was definitely on to you.’

‘Good publicity, though.’

‘And everybody went away delighted in the belief that they witnessed something ghostly.’

‘They
did!
’ Georgiana said. ‘Now,’ she said, getting up. ‘I suppose I should make my presence felt on the next tour.’

Carys looked a little apprehensive. ‘Don’t go over-the-top,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you terrifying Roberta. Remember, she has no idea that there really is a ghost at Amberley.’

Georgiana gave a winsome smile. ‘You can rely on me,’ she said, and Carys watched as she vanished in her blue mist to cause magic and mayhem amongst the next Amberley tour group.

Carys was just getting into her stride on her second and last tour of the day when Richard charged through the Montella Room at great speed.

‘Carys!’ he yelled across the room, interrupting her in mid-spiel.

‘Richard?’ She turned round to face him and immediately saw that something was wrong - horribly wrong.

‘Carys,’ he repeated, waving something at her. Her eyes widened in horror. It was the newspaper.

She gave him a pleading look, and raised her hand to acknowledge the tour group. Had he not seen them?

‘I need to speak to you,’ he said, disappearing into the next room and not even giving her the chance to object.

She turned to her tour group and bit her lip. She’d planned for all sorts of unexpected occurrences on the tour: what to do if the fire alarm went off and how to cope with breakages, but nothing had prepared her for being interrupted by an irate husband.

‘I’m afraid something’s come up,’ she said. ‘If you’ll bear with me a moment, and - er - please feel free to look around.’ She cast her eyes around the Montella Room. They’d be quite safe there, she thought. They weren’t likely to start taking the portraits off the walls, were they?

She took a deep breath and left the room.

‘Richard,’ she said in a hushed voice once she’d closed the door behind them both. ‘I’m in the middle of a tour. Can’t this wait?’

‘No, it can’t,’ he said. His face was an angry shade of red which was most unbecoming. ‘I suppose you’ve seen this?’ He flung the newspaper at her unceremoniously.

Having no choice, Carys took it from him. There was no point trying to feign ignorance. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it.’

‘Somebody left it in the office and I was idly flicking through whilst on the telephone. You see, I’d already read it here, hadn’t I? In the privacy of my own home. Yet I hadn’t seen this page before. Now, forgive me, but I’m sure I’d have remembered a picture of my wife in the newspaper.’

Carys sighed. So much for Mrs Travis’s attempt at sabotage. ‘I can explain,’ she said but she didn’t think she was going to be given the chance.

‘This is getting to be a regular occurrence, isn’t it?’

Carys flapped her hands, doing her best to calm him down. ‘Richard - shush! They’ll hear you next door.’

‘I don’t give a damn if they hear me.’

‘You’re not making any sense. You’re blaming me for something that was completely out of my control and yet you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of my tour group.’

‘What?’ he stared at her and, for one awful moment, she didn’t recognise him at all. Who was this rage-ridden man standing before her? He was wearing the same checked shirt and slightly faded trousers as usual but, other than that, he seemed a stranger to her.

‘My ghost tour. Remember? I told you about it and you gave it the go ahead.’

He shook his head as if he’d never heard of such nonsense before.

‘I’m doing this for you - for Amberley,’ she continued, ‘but I don’t seem to be getting any support.’ Carys could feel her heart hammering inside her chest. They didn’t seem to be communicating at all and this knowledge made her feel very uneasy.

‘I have to go,’ Richard said dismissively.

‘And so do I,’ Carys said, angry that Richard should suggest that he had somewhere else he should be and something more important he should be doing. Well, so did she.

‘We’ll talk about this later,’ he said, his back towards her.

For a moment, she watched him go. She had no doubt whatsoever that he’d be raising this issue with her again but the thing that filled her with the most dread was the fact that she didn’t want to be around to hear it.

She returned to the Montella Room and was aghast at the fifteen faces that turned towards her as she entered. From their expressions, she knew that they had heard every single word.

Carys cleared her throat. ‘I - er…’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, love,’ a little old lady in a pink hat said, ‘that was completely over the top - I mean the way your husband reacted.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘We’ve all read the story,’ a young man explained rather bashfully.

Carys could feel herself blushing. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘Listen, I’m rather embarrassed by all this.’

‘There’s no need to be,’ the little old lady said. ‘We’re all friends here, aren’t we?’

The group nodded their heads in unison.

‘Oh,’ Carys said. All of a sudden, she felt rather lost. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ She could feel herself swaying slightly, as if she was about to faint.

‘Are you all right?’ the pink-hatted lady asked.

‘I feel a bit - light-headed.’

‘Here,’ a young lady of about nineteen pulled out one of the chairs from the table that was used at the weekly Amberley Enterprises meetings.

‘Thank you.’ Carys sat down and wasn’t at all surprised when the other chairs were pulled out and most of the tour group sat down with her. ‘Just give me a moment and we’ll continue with the tour.’

‘Hang the tour,’ the young lady said and Carys looked up in surprise. ‘You’ve got to sort this problem out first.’

Carys blinked hard. Had she heard correctly? She looked around the table at the faces that were watching her. This wasn’t what she’d expected from being a tour guide. She was meant to be cool and confident and, most importantly, in control. Yet she felt utterly powerless, as though Richard’s words had stripped her of every ounce of self-confidence.

‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ the young lady continued, ‘I wouldn’t let a man of mine speak to me the way your husband speaks to you.’

There was a general murmur of agreement from around the table.

‘She’s right, dear,’ the pink-hatted lady said. ‘It was completely uncalled for. Especially when you explained that it wasn’t your fault.’

For a moment, Carys bent her head and covered her face with her hands. They’d heard everything! She suddenly had an image of them all huddled up with their ears pressed against the door.

‘
Shush!
Listen.’

‘
What’s she saying?’

‘
Did you hear that?’

‘
He didn’t really say that, did he?’

‘I - I wouldn’t treat you like that,’ a young man’s voice said. Carys looked up. He was sitting next to the young lady who’d pulled the chair out for her.

‘You’re such a sweetheart,’ the young lady said, ruffling his hair. Was it her brother?

‘It’s that Natasha Bryant’s fault,’ he continued, his big eyes shyly concerned.

‘She hasn’t helped,’ Carys whispered. ‘Oh, God! It’s all such a mess.’ Carys could feel her eyes vibrating with sudden tears. Where had they come from? She didn’t want to cry. She
couldn’t
cry. Not in front of a room full of strangers. She had to pull herself together. She was the Duchess of Cuthland, for goodness’ sake. Duchesses didn’t cry in public - they didn’t make a spectacle of themselves. They -

A wave of insecurity washed over Carys. Who was she fooling? She wasn’t a duchess. She was plain old Carys Miller from Stanton Street. Had she really thought she could just step into the role of duchess? Had she really been so stupid as to think she could pull it off?

‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, attempting to stand up. She immediately felt a hand on her shoulder. It was the pink-hatted lady.

‘You’re going nowhere,’ she said.

Carys looked at the faces staring at her. She knew they all meant well but she was beginning to feel rather trapped by them. There was only one way to distract them: get up and continue the tour as if nothing had happened.

Carys pushed her chair backwards. ‘I think we’d better-’ she paused. That sounded far too hesitant. She needed to take control again, if only until the end of this tour. ‘Right, everyone,’ she said, ‘let’s continue.’

But nobody moved. Each and every face was looking at her with sympathy and understanding. They didn’t give a damn about the tour.

Carys bit her lip, willing herself not to be swept along by them. ‘I think you’ll find the next room very-’

‘Uninteresting,’ the young woman interrupted. ‘Really, don’t worry about the tour. We’ve all had a great time, haven’t we?’

Again, there was a collective sound of agreement from around the table.

‘We’ve seen some wonderful rooms-’

Carys shook her head. It had been an appalling tour. They hadn’t even witnessed Georgiana’s spooky door slamming routine yet.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Carys said, giving up at last.

‘There’s nothing to apologise for,’ the pink-hatted lady said, giving Carys a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. It was such a well-meaning gesture, imparting strength and support but, sometimes, such gestures can have the opposite effect to that they intended, and Carys suddenly realised she was crying. She hadn’t meant to - really she hadn’t but, once she started, she couldn’t stop.

‘My dear girl,’ the pink-hatted lady said, thrusting a tissue at her.

‘I’m - s-so - s-sorry,’ Carys stumbled, blowing her nose loudly and dabbing her eyes, wondering if the little mascara she’d put on that morning had migrated south.

‘No need to apologise,’ the young woman said. ‘It would be much worse if you
didn’t
cry.’

Carys tried to work out how that could be possible. She’d been humiliated in the local press - again; humiliated by her husband, and now she was humiliating herself by crying.

‘Are you all right?’ the bashful young man asked.

Carys looked up and nodded. ‘Thank you, yes,’ she said. ‘I don’t quite know what happened there and I really do apologise. I’d be happy to refund the price of your tour.’

‘We’ll not hear of it,’ the pink-hatted lady said.

Carys bit her lip. She felt just awful that she’d let everybody down.

‘Then, how about a cup of tea and a slice of cake?’ Carys said, feeling a little brighter at her idea.

The group looked at each other and then smiled right back at her.