Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (5 page)

“Please, Captain,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. She found the delicate gold cross strung on the chain about her neck and rolled it between her fingers, taking the comfort it offered. “I’ve come to rely heavily on Brother Anselm, and I wouldn’t know … ” Her voice wavered, and she paused, pushing down the anxiety that threatened to overtake her. She swallowed and took the brother’s hand in hers. “That is to say, I demand that Brother Anselm accompany me. You said no price was too high to pay for my services. Well, that is my price.” She lifted her chin a notch and added, “Plus 100 pounds upon completion of my duties.”

It was an outrageous sum, but he had goaded her into it with his arrogant demand back at the tavern. She recalled the smug tone of his voice, like he believed that everyone could be bought. Well, he could take it or leave it. Preferably the latter so she could return to the comfort of her small room at the priory. After the events of the evening, she would never bemoan her meager accommodations again.

The captain forced her to wait for his response. The man was insufferable, exerting control in every situation.

“You’re right,” he drawled, and she swore she heard a smile in his tone. “You drive a hard bargain, Miss Grace, but I accept your named price. I’ll send for your things in the morning.” He tapped his cane on the ceiling twice and yelled, “Take us home, Hatchet.”

The carriage barreled along the gravel path at an alarming speed, its four spoked wheels devouring small stones under the weight of the conveyance. Grace had never had the pleasure of riding in such rich travel accommodations, and she would’ve enjoyed the experience if not for the dread blooming in her heart over reaching their final destination.

After some time passed in silence, the seat cushion beside her squeaked as Brother Anselm shifted his weight, presumably to peer out the window. “The mansion wants only a moat and a drawbridge,” her mentor said. “Then the picture would be complete. Something out of
Grimms’ Fairy Tales
to be sure.”

Grace leaned closer into his side and smiled in spite of the fact that he confirmed her worst fears about Devil’s Cove Manor. He always did enjoy a scary story.

Captain Limmerick emitted a dry laugh. “You believe in witches or the big bad wolf, then? I’m sorry to hear it. You’ll not survive long in the manor. Perhaps you prefer to stay closer to your almighty God in the chapel?”

“Do not be unkind,” Grace lashed out. “Brother Anselm has faced far worse than witches and wolves. I assure you we both have. Isn’t that the reason you sought my services tonight?”

“Something like that,” the captain replied. “Pray tell, Miss Grace, what exactly does 100 pounds get me? For that price I should expect a meeting with the devil, at the very least. Or perhaps the gatekeeper to Hell?”

Grace sat up straighter, unfazed by his taunts. He was barbaric for attempting to alarm her, and stupid, too, if he truly required her services. But if he wished to tease her, then two could play at his game.

“Who believes in fairy tales now? Can we expect a visit from the neighboring prince bearing a glass slipper?”

The captain’s amused chuckled filled the cabin. “That would require a ball first. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

Grace snorted and pulled her cloak tighter around her, warding off the sudden chill racing up her spine. Balls held no allure for her, and she was tired of sparring with the captain. She hunkered down in her seat, tapping her feet to promote blood flow to her frozen toes.

A foreign creaking sound filled her ears for a brief moment, and then the captain cleared his throat. “Take this blanket,” he said, placing it in Grace’s hands. “The nights grow cold in fall. We’ll be home soon, then you can warm yourself by the fire.”

She accepted it with a curt nod and set the blanket over her legs, reveling in what little warmth it offered now; for soon they would arrive at the manor and she would face the cold reality of her greatest fears.

A blanket of despair enveloped Grace the moment she stepped inside the manor, its weight oppressive. Unspeakable atrocities had occurred somewhere inside these walls, and the remnants of lost souls lingered. It wouldn’t take long until they sensed her presence.

She breathed deeply and took a moment to adjust to her surroundings. Wood polish was the first scent to reach her nostrils, and then roses. Perhaps a vase stood nearby on a table? Her feet rested on a plush rug, but the soft echo of footsteps to her right foretold of wood flooring in other spaces within the mansion.

“Welcome to Devil’s Cove Manor,” Captain Limmerick said, a smug satisfaction ringing in his tone.

Grace hugged herself. So, he didn’t share his servants’ fears? That would surely change soon.

“I trust tomorrow is early enough for a tour?” he asked.

She nodded.

Brother Anselm patted her hand. “You must be exhausted. Shall we find your room so you can rest?”

She smiled at his show of concern. “Yes, please.” She removed her cloak and draped it over her forearm before clutching on to Brother Anselm’s arm.

“Follow me,” the captain said, the gentle swish of his trousers fading into the distance.

“The staircase is straight ahead,” Brother Anselm whispered. “Perhaps six strides or so. No turns, and a balustrade on each side. Are you ready?”

The sound of Captain Limmerick’s trousers came to a halt, and he cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I’m not accustomed to dealing with—” He paused, and an awkward moment followed. “I shall venture to pay closer attention to Miss Grace’s needs.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” she said, lifting her chin.

She shoved all feelings of inadequacy into the recesses of her mind as Brother Anselm started forward, but it wasn’t a simple task. Rarely did she deal with people outside the village, so she had forgotten how it felt to have others look upon her with pity and judge her condition. But she would prove to the captain that he needn’t worry about her welfare. She would master her surroundings within the week.

“Step up now,” Brother Anselm said, interrupting her train of thought.

She gripped the balustrade and lifted her foot with some trepidation before setting it down gingerly. The wood stair materialized under her slipper almost immediately. The stairs were of a normal height, much like the stairs leading up the bell tower at the priory. She continued climbing, her confidence growing with each step until they reached the top.

The captain cleared his throat, and Grace turned left, toward him. “Your room is to the left of the stairs and two doors down on the right.”

He was a fast learner.

“Thank you.” Grace offered a curtsey and prepared to continue in the direction of her room, but Brother Anselm squeezed her arm, halting her.

“You should have someone look after your hand, Captain,” Brother Anselm said. “That cut is deep, and you must not allow it to become infected.”

In the turmoil of the past hour, Grace had not thought to inquire about her employer’s health, and the realization shamed her. Of course he would have sustained injuries. The man had fought in her defense, a fact she wished soon to forget. The battle cries still rang in her ears and would haunt her dreams for weeks.

“I’m sorry,” Grace said, though she doubted he cared. “It was rude of me not to inquire after your health and thank you for your assistance at The Black Serpent. Brother Anselm is very knowledgeable. Please heed his warning.”

“Not to worry, Miss Grace. I promise you I’ll recover admirably. This is naught but a tiny scrape. I bid you good night.”

Brother Anselm huffed at her side.

“Very well, then. Good night,” she replied.

Continuing in the direction of her room with Brother Anselm to her left, she trailed her fingers along the wall to gauge the distance from the stairwell to the first door. One, two, three … sixteen steps between doors.

My, but the rooms must be large.

At the second door, Grace fastened her hand around the knob and twisted, then, pushing the door wide, entered to find herself wrapped in the scents of cinnamon and honey. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t finished her supper. The room was delightfully warm, and she smiled at the crackling of fire over wood.

“Good evening, Grace,” a woman’s voice called out happily.

“Emma Taplin? Is that you, Emma?” It couldn’t be. The girl was tending the fire of her father’s hearth a good six miles away. “Whatever are you doing here?”

Two hands gripped hers and squeezed before Grace was pulled into a rough hug. “I’m to be your lady’s maid, Grace. Isn’t that wonderful? Captain Limmerick approached me yesterday with the offer, having learned of our dear friendship.”

A searing ache erupted around Grace’s heart and spread through her chest. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, nodding her agreement. It was most certainly a welcome and happy development. Emma was her one and only dear friend. That Captain Limmerick had cared enough about Grace’s comfort to seek Emma out as her lady’s maid clashed with the image of the pirate she’d conjured in her mind: bullheaded and insensitive. No wonder she was at sixes and sevens.

He had committed heinous deeds in his lifetime. The erratic vibes emitting from him confirmed it, and her sixth sense had warned her of it the moment he’d entered the tavern. However, hadn’t he also risked his life for her? No. Not for her. He had his own agenda, and defending her against those horrible men was a means to an end for Captain Limmerick. She would do well to remember that.

“Your presence is most welcome,” Grace said. “Were you not frightened to come live at the manor?”

“Not with you here. I’ve seen you do amazing things with your powers. If I feel safe around anyone, it’s you.” A giggle erupted from Emma, and she whispered, “You’ll not believe how much he is paying me. The offer couldn’t have come at a better time. Father’s cough grows worse by the day, and the cost of his tonic is burdensome. But I’m hopeful.”

“My lips are sealed,” Grace said, pulling out of Emma’s embrace. “And I’m so pleased you’re here with me. Isn’t it wonderful, Brother?”

“Yes, child,” he said, guiding her to a chair near the fire. “Come. Let’s have a sip of tea, and perhaps a scone.”

She smiled and settled into the comfortable chair, relaxing on the firm cushion beneath her bottom and the plush pillows nestled against her lower back. At the age of three and twenty, Grace was no longer a child. But Brother Anselm was like a father to her, so she forgave him for the continued use of the endearment.

Tea splashed into the porcelain cups, and she was calmed by the familiar sound of a spoon clinking against the sides. She held out her hands in anticipation of the warm brew.

“Would you care for a nip of something to ease your sleep, Grace?” Emma called.

Grace was not in the habit of imbibing, but her nerves were on edge and it would do her good. “Yes, please.”

“What is that you’re putting in Grace’s tea?” Brother Anselm asked, a slight edge of reproof lacing his words. The gentle padding of his feet on the wood floor forewarned Grace that he’d gone to investigate, ever the watchful caregiver.

He disapproved of spirits, at least the liquid kind.

“Just a little something to calm the nerves and to help Grace with a restful night’s sleep,” Emma replied. “Don’t scowl at me like that, Brother. You know I would never harm her.”

A light crack rent the air, and Grace hid her smile behind her hand. Only Emma dared to slap away Brother Anselm’s hands.

“Forgive me,” he said. “But it’s highly unusual. I’ve never seen a ring with a hidden compartment for storing spirits. With such a small dose, it can hardly do Grace harm. Very well, but where did you get that ring?”

Emma grabbed Grace’s hand and wrapped it around the handle of a teacup. “Never mind, and you needn’t bother asking, because it isn’t for sale. I know you and your love for trinkets.”

A few seconds later she returned, setting a plate on the table next to Grace. The clatter of the dish on the wood top, along with the dull pitch, alerted Grace to the fact that it contained food.

“Raspberry scones,” Emma said. “One of your favorites. I told Cook this morning, and she whipped up a batch. She’s thrilled to have you here to—” She quieted for a moment. “Well, you know what? Enough of that for now. Have a bite to eat and drink your tea.”

“Thank you, Emma,” Grace said, reaching for a scone. She bit into the buttery confection and sighed as it melted on her tongue. “It’s delicious.”

Brother Anselm must’ve settled back into his chair and found a scone or two of his own, because Grace could hear his little moans of pleasure as he ate. It was a ritual with him, the grunts and groans that accompanied meals. She had thought his habit came out of a need to fill the silence between them in the early days after her father dropped her at the priory, leaving her forever in Brother Anselm’s care. But now she believed it simply a part of who he was, an endearing part that comforted her, for though she could not see that he was still by her side, she could always hear him.

Emma filled the void with small talk about the mansion and the servants’ quarters. It would take time acclimating to living so far from her father, but Emma assured Grace that all would be well. With the scones polished off and cinnamon tea warming her belly, Grace stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.

“You needn’t say more, my dear,” Brother Anselm said with a soft chuckle. “I’m off to find my sleeping quarters. I shall see you in the morning. Sleep well.”

Emma insisted on disrobing Grace and helping her into one of Emma’s nightgowns. She led Grace about the room, pointing out the precise location of the private water closet. It was a luxury beyond anything Grace had experienced since she was a child. Why had the captain placed her in one of the rooms reserved for honored guests?

After splashing cool water on her face and tapping it dry with a towel, Grace made her way alone across the room to the large four-poster bed she had explored earlier under Emma’s protective watch. The bedding, made of goose down, felt heavenly draped over her body, and she sank onto the fluffy pillows.