Last Night's Scandal (23 page)

“Never mind,” she said. “Never mind.”

She was arranging her clothing. Because of him. He’d done that. Disarranged her. What was wrong with him?

“I have to deal with this first,” he said. “But—”

“Go,” she said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I
t took a while for Lisle to penetrate the hysteria and make any sense of what had happened. Some gibbered about cutthroats and some wailed about intruders and some shrieked about ghosts and some were simply bewildered.

Eventually, he and Olivia managed to herd everyone back into the castle. That would have been more difficult had the servants been able to take refuge elsewhere. Some had fled to the stables, but he doubted they’d stay. It was too cold, and the area was too exposed. If they had any sense, they’d come back to huddle with the others.

Sure enough, by the time he and Olivia had settled the ladies in front of the fire, with large glasses of whiskey, all of the servants had gathered in the great hall.

Safety in numbers.

He noticed that the servants had not, as previously, gathered under the minstrels’ gallery in what used to be the screens passage. Instead they’d drawn nearer to the opposite end of the room where the great fireplace stood.

As one would expect, most of them didn’t know what had happened. When the screaming started, they’d simply panicked and run.

It took patience as well as Olivia’s help with the questioning, but eventually he ascertained that Lady Cooper had screamed first. The others had taken it up without knowing what they were screaming about.

At present she was arguing with Lady Withcote about what she’d seen.

“It was a ghost,” Lady Cooper said. “I saw it, as plain as day. Up there.” She waved her glass at the other end of the hall. “In the minstrels’ gallery.” Every head turned that way and looked up. There was nothing to see. The gallery was dark.

“What did it look like?” Lisle said.

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“It looked like a ghost, all white and shadowy,” Lady Cooper said. “Filmy. Like a fog. It flitted across the gallery.”

Several servants shuddered.

“What nonsense,” said Lady Withcote. “I know what happened. You fell asleep, as you often do, and dreamed it.”

“I know when I’m asleep and when I’m awake. I didn’t dream anything!”

“How long was it there?” Lisle said.

“It was never there,” Lady Withcote said.

Lady Cooper glared at her friend. “It was there,” she said. “Some of the servants saw it, too. I’m not sure how long it remained. It might have been hovering there for some time, watching us.”

More shudders.

“When I looked up,” Lady Cooper went on, “there it was. I screamed. What else should I do? What would anyone do? One hears of such things, but never with my own eyes had I seen a ghost, in the flesh.”

“Really, Agatha, it could hardly be
in the flesh
. What nonsense you talk.”

“You screamed, too, Millicent.”

“Because you frightened me out of my wits. I thought it was bloodthirsty Scots come to kill us. Then you raced out of the hall and out of the door, into the night, and half the servants after you, in a panic. I didn’t know what to think. Had your petticoat caught fire?” Lisle glanced at Olivia.

That was to say, he glanced toward where she’d last been. She wasn’t there.

He looked wildly about the great hall. Despite the ample supply of candles, its corners were dark. How easy it would be, he realized, for an intruder to slip in among the others, unnoticed in all the confusion. How easy to snatch someone—

But no, what was he thinking? Anyone who tried to snatch Olivia was in for a surprise.

He’d hardly thought it when a light appeared in the darkness, coming from overhead at the north end of the great hall. He turned his gaze upward.

Olivia stood in the gallery, a small branch of candles in her hand. Every eye turned that way.

Trust her to make a dramatic entrance.

“Whatever was or wasn’t here before,” she said, “there’s nothing here now.” She moved to the center of the gallery, in front of the arched window recess. She set the candelabra down upon a table someone had placed there. Bathed in candlelight, her hair glowing red-gold, she stood in the posture of a queen: head up and shoulders back, completely unafraid. A fanciful man might imagine an ancient ancestress adopting such a pose as she urged her vassals to defend the castle at all costs.

“There’s nothing here,” she said again. “No ghostly vapor trails. No muddy footprints.

Nothing at all.”

Lady Cooper’s voice broke the spell. “But I saw it, dear, plain as day.”

“I don’t doubt you saw something,” Olivia said. “A bird might have flown in through one of the broken windows. A prankster might have found a way in, too.”
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She paused for a moment, to let that sink in.

Then, “Bailey, fetch me a broom and a length of muslin,” she said.

While the maid went on her errand, Lisle became aware of the atmosphere changing, the mindless fear melting away. From petrified silence, the audience relaxed into a low murmuring.

In a few minutes, Bailey appeared in the gallery with broom and cloth. Olivia gave her the candelabra and sent her out. The gallery was in darkness once more.

Shortly thereafter, Lisle heard a soft rustling. Then a white something billowed at the rail of the gallery.

He heard a collective intake of breath.

“All one need do is stand in the doorway, with a length of thin cloth on the end of a long stick,” came Olivia’s voice from the darkness.

“Good heavens!” Lady Cooper cried.

More murmuring from the servants. A little laughter.

After a time, Lady Withcote said, her satisfaction plainly audible, “Well, it only goes to show how easily one may be gulled.”

“But who would do such a thing?” Lady Cooper said.

“The sort who like to play pranks,” said Lady Withcote. “The world never lacks that sort.” Olivia reappeared in their midst as abruptly as she’d disappeared. She came forward to stand in the full light of the fireplace.

Though Lisle knew it was dramatic effect, she took his breath away. She looked almost unearthly, standing before that enormous fireplace, backlit by the flames that played over the red curls, the creamy skin, the heavy silk of her gown.

She remained in her Chatelaine of the Castle persona, Lisle saw, hands loosely folded at her waist, spine straight.

“It was a silly prank,” she said to the company. “More than likely, a few local boys wanted a laugh at the Londoners’ expense. They must have thought it a fine joke, watching everyone running about, shrieking in terror.”

“Who can blame them?” Lady Withcote laughed. “It was comical, you must admit, Agatha. Put me in mind of the trick Lord Thorogood played on his wife. Do you recall?”

“How could I forget? They said her lover couldn’t raise a shaft for a week afterward, he had such a fright.”

While they continued their bawdy reminiscences, Olivia sent the servants about their business. She called Nichols and Bailey aside and told them to check all the rooms and passages. That would reassure anybody who feared that the intruders were still in the castle.

When bedtime came, she said, she wanted calm and order. “Drug them if you have to,” was her final command.

They departed on their assignment.

Soon thereafter, the ladies staggered off to their beds.

That left Olivia and Lisle in the great hall.

She stood gazing at the fire. The firelight gilded her hair and glowed a soft pink in her cheeks and the sight made his heart ache.

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What am I going to do?
he thought.
What am I going to do about her?

“That was wonderfully quick thinking,” he said. “You brought everyone to their senses in a matter of minutes.”

“It didn’t want thinking,” she said. “I’ve created ghosts often enough. I’ve even conducted séances. It’s easy.”

“The performance shouldn’t have surprised me,” he said. “But it did.”

“Surely you can’t have thought I believed in ghosts,” she said.

“You’re romantic.”

“Yes, but not gullible.”

No, not gullible or naïve or innocent. She’d never been any of those things. Or inhibited or squeamish. Or anything like any other woman he’d ever known.

It came into his head and into his blood all at once: her quick passion, the softness of her skin, the taste and scent of her, the curves of her body, and the heat raced through him, making his head spin.

She was a force of nature, unstoppable, irresistible.

What the devil was he to do?

He couldn’t rely on her and he couldn’t trust himself. Look at what he’d done, mere hours after they’d agreed it must not happen again.

I don’t want to ruin your life, and I know you don’t want to ruin mine.

“Speaking of romantic,” he said.

“If you apologize for what happened on the roof, I’ll strangle you,” she said.

“If we hadn’t been interrupted—”

“Yes, I know.” Her brow knit. “I have to think about this. I’m sure there’s a solution. But I can’t find it now. It’s been a long day.”

A lifetime, he thought.

His life. It was changing, irrevocably, unstoppably. It had started changing from the moment his lips touched hers—no, before that. From the moment he’d found her in the ballroom.

“Eventful, certainly,” he said.

“But the heart of the matter . . .” She frowned. “Here’s what’s in my mind. We’re in dire need of a butler. It’s clear that Edwards, wherever he may be, will not return. We’re in dire need as well of Scottish servants. London servants don’t belong here. They don’t like it, they don’t understand it, and they don’t fit. Someone, clearly, wants to undermine our work here.

We need to get to the bottom of that. Too, we need a stable staff we can rely on, people with ties to the place.”

Though it had been a long day, he was too uncomfortable and too angry with himself to feel weary. He was supposed to be the strong one. Yet he’d found her on the roof and he’d seen the stars in her eyes and he’d done exactly what he’d vowed he wouldn’t do again.

All the same, he couldn’t ignore what she was saying. Facts. She’d summed up the situation as logically as he might have done, if he hadn’t been so bollixed up with
feelings.

“You’re right,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “I am?”

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“We have a problem, but that isn’t the only problem,” he said. “We came here to rebuild.

We came to solve the castle’s problems. That’s what we need to concentrate on. If we do that—”

Her mouth quirked up. “No time for misbehaving.”

“The devil makes work for idle hands,” he said.

“I never noticed that I needed his help,” she said. She gave a short laugh and moved away. “Well, then, we’ve a plan of sorts. And we can tackle it tomorrow.” She bade him good night, and vanished into the south wing.

O
livia kept the amused expression on her face until she was safely behind the doors and on her way up the stairs.

Then she stopped and clutched her head.

What were they going to do?

Desire was a terrible thing, not what she’d always imagined it to be. It was
unbearable
.

To stand there, looking at him, and wanting to touch him and wanting to be touched.

What had happened, on the roof, that wondrous feeling.

She knew what it was. She had, after all, read Great-Grandmama’s fascinating collection of erotic literature, and she’d learned how to pleasure herself.

But that was a pale imitation.

Think about something else,
she ordered herself. And so she thought about butlers and how to lose them and how to find them. She thought about ghosts that weren’t ghosts. She listed domestic problems as she climbed the winding stairs to her room.

She went to bed without much hope of sleeping well, but the day’s events had done for her. She laid her head on the pillow and the next she knew, grey morning light had filled the room and Bailey was standing by the bed, tray in her hands. From it the aroma of chocolate wafted to Olivia’s nostrils.

Gorewood Castle great hall

Morning of Tuesday 18 October

The Harpies hadn’t risen yet, and probably wouldn’t be up and about until noon. That was their usual time, Lisle supposed, when they weren’t being harassed by forces of nature.

Though feeling far from peaceful inwardly, he’d enjoyed a quiet breakfast.

He hadn’t realized how unpeaceful the previous ones had been until now.

He heard the servants’ light footsteps as they went about their work . . . the wind whistling through the chinks and broken windows . . . the fire crackling in the grate.

The environment was far from ideal, and he was hundreds of miles from where he wanted to be and the work ahead of him didn’t fill him with excitement. But he had peace about him.

And order. And a moment of quiet in which to ponder the irony of Olivia’s having created it.

She came in as he was finishing the cup of coffee Nichols had made for him.

Lisle rose.

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She stood next to him, and peered at the tiny cup on the table. “Is that Turkish coffee?” He nodded. Her clothing rustled at his ear. He could smell her, the faint, floral fragrance.