Old Lover's Ghost (11 page)

“I daresay it can wait until morning, Bagot.”

Bagot was just leaving when Mr. Wainwright arrived. He had taken the time to don trousers and shirt and was just pulling his jacket into place when he entered.

“Was it Knagg?” he demanded, looking all around, perhaps hoping for a view of a ghost.

“Someone came into my room,” Merton said. “A female—a light gown with a stain on the bodice.”

“The singing nun! I told you she was there,” Wainwright exclaimed joyously.

“It was no nun. It was a live female. I chased her downstairs. She left by the front door,” Merton informed him.

Wainwright glanced at the door, then back at the staircase. “Would you have any objection to my having a word with her?”

“You are entirely welcome, but I fancy she is halfway to Eastleigh by now.”

“No, no. They never stray so far. I meant, may I go into your room, milord?”

Merton tossed up his hands in resignation. “Why not? It is clear I am to get no sleep this night.”

Wainwright darted off, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Lewis said, “You owe Miss Wainwright an apology, John.”

Merton turned as pink as a rose and turned to Charity. “My head received a vicious bump. It was such an extraordinary thing, to awaken and see a strange woman approaching my bed.”

Charity was not appeased by this weak excuse. “I shall be happy to leave if I am not wanted here.”

“I want you,” Merton said angrily. The words hung pregnantly on the air as they exchanged a startled, almost embarrassed, look, then Charity looked swiftly away, her heart racing.

Lewis said, “That ain’t an apology, John.”

“I am aware of that,” Merton snapped. “I am indeed sorry, Miss Wainwright. I pray you will ignore my ill-natured request that you leave.”

“It was not a request; it was an order,” she said. “And to suggest that I was sneaking into your bedroom! Upon my word, I think I must leave, first thing in the morning.”

Merton risked a smile. “This materialization of the singing nun will not encourage your papa to leave.”

Charity knew only too well this was true. As it seemed she must stay, she tossed her tousled curls and said, “Well, it is very strange. Very likely it was the singing nun.”

“Ghosts do not leave the premises,” Merton said. “We have your papa’s word for it.”

“Do you think it might have been Miss Monteith?” Charity asked. She was sorry to let go of her pique so soon, but curiosity once more overcame her and she found it hard to be both angry and curious at the same time.

Merton had no such mixed feelings. He leaped on this idea like a dog on a bone. “She was very annoyed with me when I ordered her out of Mama’s room earlier this evening. When I went to speak to Mama about Papa and Meg, you know.”

“Could the woman have been her, though?” Lewis asked. “She is pretty ancient to be capering about the house at top speed.”

“It seemed like a young woman, which is why I thought Miss Wainwright ...” Intercepting a gimlet stare from Charity, Merton spoke of other things. “Unfortunately, I did not get a look at the face at all. She had a sort of mantle pulled low about it. She—or someone—had drawn my curtains. I saw her by moonlight. It was a frightening moment. I first thought it was the singing nun, but of course a second thought brought me to my senses.” He glanced at Lewis with the dawning of suspicion. Odd he was wearing his shoes and stockings.

“Old Monteith has got one of the servants to play this trick on you, depend on it,” Lewis said. “Either that or it was the nun.”

“I shall question the servants tomorrow,” Merton said.

Lewis said doubtfully, “I should not bother, John. It will only set them to cackling. Best to forget it. Unless it happens again, of course.”

Merton gave him a knowing look. “You will see that it does not happen again, Lewis. I demmed near broke my neck.”

Lewis stared, the picture of innocence. “What, are you suggesting I—”

“Cut bait. You were wide awake and waiting for my reaction. You bore no traces of sleep when you came bucketing downstairs. You ought to have at least mussed your hair and removed your shoes and stockings.”

Glancing at Lewis’s feet, Charity noticed he was fully shod. “So that is why you were absent after dinner, and why you wore that gloating look when you joined me later. Who was the ghost?” she demanded.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,” Lewis said, trying to look offended.

But when Merton laughed, he said, “Well, you deserved it. And now if you will excuse me, I ought to see that Millie gets home all right. Millie Dawson, old Ned Dawson’s daughter. I set it up with her this afternoon, as she is always ripe for any rig.”

“Such rigs as this could put the pair of you on the gibbet,” Charity said. “If Merton had broken his neck ...”

Lewis rose and headed for the front door to check on Millie Dawson. “You wasn’t supposed to chase her, John. You was supposed to swoon. And you wasn’t supposed to insult Miss Wainwright either,” he added as his parting shot.

“As to that,” Charity said nobly, “Miss Wainwright is becoming accustomed to insults in this house.”

“She was not treated so badly at Radley Hall, I wager,” Merton said.

“No indeed. Nor at Beaulieu either.”

“And now I must cancel our ride tomorrow as well. I fear this ankle will keep me chairbound for a few days.”

“Oh, I knew we would not be riding,” she said. “Papa told me not to pack my riding habit. He always knows.”

“Pity I went to the bother of sending a footman off to London for it.”

“Yes, I told you it was a waste of time, but some people do not listen to good advice. Would you like some assistance upstairs, milord? Shall I call Bagot, or will you require a brace of sturdy foottmen?”

“Just put the wine decanter here beside me, if you will be so kind, and leave me to plot my revenge on Lewis. I shall not further aggravate the Wainwrights by interfering with your papa’s ghost hunting in my chamber.”

“Don’t be foolish. Of course you must go to bed if you are tired.”

“And my ankle aching like the devil, to say nothing of my wrenched neck.” He looked, hoping to see a sign of sympathy. Finding none, he added, “And my wrenched pride.”

“You should have been forewarned, Merton. Did you not realize pride goeth before a fall? Talk about pride, what of mine? You were not ordered to leave the premises.”

He flicked a quizzical grin at her. “I have not heard the last of that, have I?”

“No, sir. Not by a long chalk.”

“I shall have a rout party to repay you for that infamous insult. Will that heal the breach?”

“I am very much inclined to forbid anything of the sort, but Papa told me to bring a special party frock, so there is no point. I shall leave you to your wine and your guilty conscience.” She rose, delivered the wine decanter, and glared. “It is unbecoming behavior for you to smile in that horrid way when you should be feeling guilty,” she scolded.

“I am smiling to think how I shall make it up to you, Charity. No, no. You must not fly into a fresh pelter at my presumption in using your first name. I use it to remind you of your Christian duty. As the Good Book says, ‘Charity suffereth long, and is kind.’”

“Yes, and charity begins at home. I shall have charity on myself and go back to bed. Good night, Merton.”

“Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“Au contraire. Parting is a distinct pleasure, and I take leave to tell you, sir, you are no Romeo.” On this defiant speech she turned and left.

“I should hope not. Romeo was a young ass,” he called after her retreating figure.

The echo of a chuckle followed her as she went to the staircase. Once she was away from Merton, she allowed herself the luxury of a small, matching chuckle. How he had hated being caught in the wrong, making a fool of himself, and, most of all, apologizing. A few more such blows and his pride might be battered down to size.

Chapter Ten

Despite his lame ankle, Merton was already at the breakfast table the next morning when Charity came downstairs. He and Lewis sat together, harmony restored after Lewis’s prank. She was happy to see that Merton was not the kind of man who bore a grudge. He reached for the walking stick propped by his chair in a token effort of rising to greet her. Charity just smiled her sympathy and motioned him to remain seated. The smudges beneath his dark eyes told her he had not slept much.

“Good morning, Merton,” she said. “You are not looking your usual hardy self. I hope the ankle did not give you too bad a night?”

“Good morning, Charity. I slept well enough once I got to bed—at three o’clock. The singing nun was extremely active in my chamber, according to Mr. Wainwright. But she did not leave it. That was Lewis’s little prank. It seems we had another haunting as well.”

“No!”

“Oh, yes. Or at least Mama is convinced it was a ghost.”

“But you nailed the attic window above her room shut and blocked the holes in the clothespresses.”

“I fancy this ghost came directly from Miss Monteith’s room.”

“It was a white pigeon,” Lewis said, looking up from his plate of gammon and eggs.

Merton swallowed his annoyance at having his story plundered, but continued. “I heard Mama’s shouts of terror as I was finally preparing for bed. I hobbled down the hallway to see what was amiss. When I opened the door, a bird flew into my face. It gave me the shock of my life, I can tell you. No wonder Mama was shrieking. She says it was the soul of Meg, come to haunt her. It is a vicious stunt to terrorize her,” he finished grimly.

“Could the bird have gotten in by an open window during the day and been awakened during the night?” she asked.

“That hardly seems likely. Pigeons are not insomniacs after all. Why should it sleep peacefully while she was in her room and awaken at two-thirty in the morning?”

“Could have drugged it,” Lewis suggested. “Fed it a mouthful of laudanum.”

Charity nodded. “Papa has felt from the first that Miss Monteith should be let go.”

“Easier said than done, unfortunately,” Merton replied. “Mama has become attached to her. Something else occurs to me as well. This latest ‘haunting’ happened just after Mama spoke to Penley about giving that five thousand to the charity fund. She had not definitely decided to do it.”

“My five thousand,” Lewis muttered.

“You are suggesting some connivance between St. John and Miss Monteith?” Charity asked.

“Not necessarily. My thinking is that Miss Monteith is after the money for herself. She wishes to convince Mama to give the money to her, not the fund. She is Meg’s sister after all, her closest living relative. A sort of posthumous bequest.”

“Did your mama mention this possibility?”

“No, she was too upset to talk rationally. Miss Monteith gave her a paregoric draft. And suggested that Mama would like to move to another room—now that we have made her own chamber ghost-proof.”

“I see! Do you know which room? We should have a close look at it.”

“No, I shall discover that later today. But enough of this lugubrious talk. I am sorry we must miss our ride, as it is such a fine day. I had been looking forward to it.”

Charity saw no reason why a sore leg need keep them from a drive in his carriage, but Lord Merton did not suggest that alternative.

“I shall manage to amuse myself,” she said. “I shall go to take a look at Meg Monteith’s grave. Shall I take flowers, as you mentioned doing last night?”

Merton had been envisaging a quiet morning with Charity, perhaps in the solarium or sitting in the garden, talking. It was her insouciant mention of doing other things that brought the frown to his brow. Before he could answer her question regarding the flowers, Lewis spoke up.

“I shall show you the grave, Miss Wainwright. And a few other points of interest as well. Did John tell you we have our own hermit? And a grotto and all.”

“A hermit!” Charity exclaimed. “How very odd!”

“Did Radley Hall not have a hermit, ma’am?” Merton inquired satirically.

“No, but they had a lovely chapel.”

“We have a chapel, too,” Lewis boasted. “If you can call it a chapel. It looks like a big barn inside. Cromwell’s lads ripped out all the stained glass and pictures and statues. It is nothing but a bare whitewashed room now.”

“It is considered the best example of its sort in England!” Merton felt obliged to mention. “Most of the others have been semi-restored to their former glory. Ours is perfectly intact, an outstanding example of the period.”

“That is John’s excuse for not restoring it as it used to be,” Lewis explained. “Our stable is fancier than our chapel.”

“We have historical societies touring it on a regular basis, begging me not to tamper with it,” Merton said.

“Truth to tell, we Mertons were never much for religion,” Lewis added, to give the true explanation for the chapel’s Puritan austerity.

Charity said without much enthusiasm, “I should like to see it.”

“Eat up, then, and we shall be off. Pity you cannot come with us, John. Would you like me to haul you to your office before we leave?” Lewis asked.

“I can manage, thank you. I plan to take a book of poetry out to the garden.”

Lewis stared as if looking at a zebra or some other exotic animal at the Exeter Exchange. “Poetry! By Jove, you ought to get that bump on your head looked at. You never read poetry. I shall fetch you the Farmers’ Monthly before I leave. Are you nearly finished, Miss Wainwright?”

“No, I have just begun,” she replied, and continued eating her toast and eggs. “What poetry will you read, Merton?” she inquired. “Do you read the older poets or Byron?”

He hesitated a moment, not wanting to appear stuffy but uncertain as to whether she might find Byron fast.

“John has never bought a book of poems in his life,” Lewis told her. “If he has gone soft in the head in his old age, he is reading ancient stuff from the library. I doubt he has ever heard of Byron.”

“I happen to be a friend and admirer of Byron!” Merton objected. When this failed to impress his guest, he added, “I shall probably have another look at Southey this morning, however.” This brought no reaction from Charity. “What poets do you admire, Charity?” he asked.