Old Lover's Ghost (8 page)

“Ah, there you are,” he said, smiling, when he saw her. “A marvelous place. The singing nun is at home here. She is the same lady who was stabbed in Lord Merton’s room. I have been trying to get a grasp of why it happened. I am beginning to wonder if there is a link between her and Knagg and the Cromwellian ghost. A lovers’ triangle, as it were. That would heighten the animosity between Knagg and the other ghost. His name is Charles, by the by, but he calls himself Walter. He did not want to have the same name as the king, whom he despised.”

“Did you find any confirmation of this in the library?” she asked. It darted into her head that he may have found the story there and put it forth as his own, to be “confirmed” at a later date. Such little ruses were not beneath him.

“No, but I shall keep on digging. I would like to visit Lord Merton’s bedchamber again. Lady Merton told me to make myself at home.”

“I would ask Merton first, Papa,” Charity said.

“I saw him ride off a while ago. I hailed him, but he did not hear me. I shall just run up and have a quick look. There can be no harm in it. I was in there last night.”

“I wish you would wait until he returns.”

“What is the harm in it? I shan’t touch anything. Come along, Charity. I want you to take notes for me. I sometimes forget the exact words of the speaker. I want an accurate record.”

Charity tried again to dissuade him, but when he became sharp with her, she went along. Knowing that Merton had ridden out, it seemed superfluous to knock at the door. Mr. Wainwright just opened it and barged in, with Charity behind him. They both found themselves staring at a very surprised Lord Merton, caught in the act of undressing. His shirt was off, revealing a handsome set of shoulders and a patch of dark hair on his broad chest. His valet was handing him a clean shirt.

“What is the meaning of this?” Merton exclaimed angrily.

“I was sure you had left, milord,” Wainwright said. “I saw you—well, it must have been Lord Winton, I daresay.”

Charity beat a hasty retreat. From a few yards down the hall she heard Merton’s angry tirade. “And you came snooping about my room the moment I was gone! This is intolerable!”

“I was just looking for the singing nun,” Mr. Wainwright said apologetically, backing from the doorway. “Another time.”

“This room is out of bounds for your witch hunting, sir, at any time!”

“Ghost hunting, milord!” Wainwright said.

“Get out!”

Wainwright closed the door and joined his daughter.

“I told you you should ask him,” Charity said. Shame turned her cheeks as red as boiled beets. She feared this would be the end of Lord Merton’s interest in her. He thought she and her papa were a pair of nosy, snooping commoners—if not worse. First Papa had failed to find Lady Merton’s ghost; now he had given Lord Merton a disgust of them. They must certainly leave at once, before they were requested to go. She gave a hint of her feelings.

“No, he does not want us to leave,” Wainwright said. “Lord Merton is hot at hand; he was surprised but not really angry.”

“He told you to get out!”

“Aye, but I sensed he regretted it almost before the words were out. I shall explain, but I shall not apologize. That is for Merton to do. Now, the Armaments Room requires more work.”

Bagot, his long legs moving like pistons, came running to meet them as they descended the stairs. “Mr. Wainwright! Mr. Wainwright, come! The Armaments Room is a shambles. I heard a great crashing sound and went to investigate. The table holding the yellow jerkin and the helmet has been overturned by Knagg. There was no one in the room when it happened.”

“Come!” Wainwright shouted gleefully, and darted off to the Armaments Room, with Charity in hot pursuit.

Chapter Seven

The scene in the Armaments Room was as Bagot had described it. The small table holding the antique pistols, the round helmet, and the jerkin had been overturned, its contents scattered about the floor.

“Can you not feel it?” Wainwright exclaimed. “The anger of those two blood relatives! It is overwhelming. I must ask you to leave, Charity. You might be harmed. Bagot, you will speak to the servants and determine that no one was in this room when the table was toppled. Leave me now. It is time for communication with the spirits.” He closed his eyes and went into what looked like a trance.

Bagot ran off to do as he was bid, while Charity found herself at loose ends. She did not even want to be in the house when Merton came down. To escape, she went out to the cloisters to think. Merton would not be so uncivil as to ask them to leave before morning. She hoped her riding habit had arrived by then, so she could take it home with her; otherwise she would be without it for a few days in London and she wanted to ride. In London riding was restricted to the slow pace of Rotten Row. She had been looking forward to a good run in the country with Merton. How he must despise her now!

She gazed out at the countryside she would not be riding through. Terraced gardens led down from the cloisters, with the land of Reefer Hall spreading away in the distance. There were patches of light and dark green fields, where the various crops were growing under the spring sun. In the farther distance she spied what must be sheep in a meadow, although they did not look like sheep from this distance, perhaps because they had just been sheared. They looked like little pink rocks, except that some of them were moving. A man on a bay mount was riding along the western edge of the field. As he drew closer, she recognized Lord Winton.

Despite the physical resemblance, he was an altogether different sort of person from his elder brother. One would never have to tell him to enjoy himself. He took life very lightly—too lightly, really. Merton was always jawing at him. It was strange that the two brothers were so different. More like father and son than brothers. The Peerage had indicated that their father had died some twelve years before, when the present Lord Merton was eighteen, younger than Lewis was now. Merton had had to assume the mantle of responsibility at a youthful age. Perhaps that accounted for his arrogant manner.

In a short while Lewis came out of the stable on foot and discovered Charity. He was not tardy in joining her.

“What a wretched host my brother is, leaving you moping alone,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought he was going to show you the secret passage.”

“He did. I am not moping.”

“You look as sour as a Methodist. What has happened?”

“Your brother and my papa have come to cuffs,” she said, and explained about the trip to Merton’s room.

“Well, if that ain’t just like John, to go making a mountain out of a molehill. I shall have a word with him.”

“No, I wish you will not. It is his not believing in ghosts, I think, that makes him impatient with this visit.”

“Dash it, the house is alive with ghosts. How can he not believe? I have a good mind to prove it to him”

“Perhaps Knagg’s latest visit in the Armaments Room will convince him,” she said, but she did not believe it.

Lewis was on his feet. “Eh? Knagg paid us another visit?”

“Yes, he was very violent this time. He threw the table over.”

“By gad! Let us go and have a look!” He grabbed her hand, urging her to a faster pace as they returned to the house.

Wainwright had finished his communication with the ghosts. Lord Merton had joined him in the Armaments Room. Bagot was there as well. Charity glanced fearfully at Merton, expecting scowls and sneers. To her considerable astonishment he was smiling and speaking civilly to her papa.

“If Bagot says none of the servants was here, then it must have been Knagg cutting up a lark,” he said in a hearty voice. He spotted Charity and Lewis as they entered. She discerned a trace of embarrassment in his manner when he looked at her. It was there, in his uncertain smile and proud head, which was held a fraction lower than usual.

“Ah, Lewis, you will want to have a look at this. Mr. Wainwright has suggested we leave the table and items on the floor as they are for the nonce, to see if the ghosts separate the items. You will see the yellow jerkin is resting on a Cavalier’s pistol. Mr. Wainwright thinks Knagg will move it. He plans to lock the room to ensure that no one—no living person, I mean—interferes. That would certainly convince me that we have ghosts.” He did not dare to look at Charity as he uttered this plumper, but he was acutely aware that she was staring at him.

“The windows must be secured as well,” Wainwright explained. Merton looked doubtful at this. He was repentant, but he did not intend to have his window frames fitted out with locks to keep out nonexistent ghosts. “Putty,” Wainwright explained. “It can be removed without leaving a trace.”

Merton said, “Just so. Bagot, you will see to it.”

“Certainly, your lordship.” Bagot left reluctantly.

“Well, this is certainly an amazing example of ghostly work, is it not, Mr. Wainwright?” Merton continued. “You will want to write this up for the Ghost Society, I wager.”

“That is the Society for the Study of Discarnate Beings,” Wainwright corrected him. “There are other spirits besides ghosts. I am in contact with a Herr Schmidt from Berlin who is doing fascinating work on what he calls polter geists. The phrase means noise ghosts. They are unusual in that they never materialize but only make their presence known by means of noises. He will certainly be interested in today’s occurrence, but I think we have your ordinary run-of-the-mill ghosts here at Keefer Hall, not polter geists. The reason I say so is that I actually caught a glimpse of Charles this afternoon. Walter I should call him, the Cromwellian ghost. A handsome enough fellow, but with a polt foot.” His audience stared at him in confusion. “A clubfoot, we call it nowadays, like poor Byron. Walter calls it a polt foot.”

Merton’s patience gave out. “I suggest we all have a glass of sherry to celebrate this occurrence,” he said, and led the others to the Blue Saloon. Wainwright remained behind to commune with the spirits.

As Bagot was occupied with attending to the putty, Merton poured the sherry himself and handed it around.

When they were seated, he cleared his throat and said to Charity, “I have apologized to Mr. Wainwright for my farouche behavior earlier this afternoon, ma’am, and I now wish to apologize to you. I was caught off guard. Being half-dressed, I did not expect company.”

“Good God!” Lewis laughed. “Did they catch you with your trousers down, John? Miss Wainwright did not tell me that! No wonder you was sore as a gumboil.”

Merton’s jaw worked silently. He was displeased that Miss Wainwright had confided her troubles to Lewis. “My trousers were in place. I was changing my shirt, which had become soiled in the secret passage.”

“Being without a shirt ain’t any excuse for insulting the Wainwrights,” Lewis said severely. “Upon my word, you ought to be shown a lesson.”

“I am speaking—apologizing—to Miss Wainwright,” Merton said, flicking an admonishing glance at his brother.

Charity said in a flustered way, “That is quite all right, milord. I understand. Indeed I feel I ought to apologize myself. I told Papa he should wait and ask your permission.”

Merton agreed with her, but he was so eager to have the matter settled that he said, “I was certainly more at fault. An Athenian would not have behaved so uncivilly.”

Lewis said, “Eh? What the deuce do Athenians have to do with it?”

Merton said, “Nothing. Did you take care of the wool?”

“Of course I did. And I dropped in on Penley, too. Let on I was thinking of buying some Consols. How he could believe that when he knows I haven’t a sou to my name ... However, he was pretty worried, John. He asked if you’d drop in on him. He would not tell me, of course, but I wager Mama is up to something scatterbrained, like giving my blunt to St. John’s charity fund.”

“I shall certainly call on him soon.”

“ ‘As soon as possible’ is what he actually said. I believe he mentioned something about urgent and a most serious matter. I meant to tell you the instant I got home, but between hearing about you insulting the Wainwrights and Knagg cutting up a fracas, it slipped my mind.”

Merton looked alarmed at this. He set down his glass, drew out his pocket watch, and said, “I have time to see him before dinner.” Then he turned to Lewis. “I think this urgent, most serious matter might have taken precedence over a fallen table, Lewis. Has Mama come home?”

“No, I followed her and Monteith. They turned in at the vicarage. No doubt she is going to tell St. John he can have my money.”

Without further ado Merton called for his mount and rode into Eastleigh. Charity expected that Lewis would suggest some outing for them, but he seemed distracted.

“It is really the outside of enough,” he muttered into his collar.

“Lord Merton will discover if your fortune is at risk,” she said to console him.

“I ain’t talking about that. It is his behavior to you and your papa. Really, the man is a boor. But of course he will look after my money for me. Say that for him. He always does the right thing when money or land is involved,” he said snidely. “He still don’t believe in Knagg, you know. That act in the Armaments Room was a charade to try to smooth your ruffled feathers. Poor John hasn’t an iota of imagination.”

“I know.” Charity thought it was rather sweet of Merton to try to pacify her and Papa.

“Did you happen to catch a glimpse of our singing nun when you was down at the cloisters, Miss Wainwright?”

“No, I never see ghosts.”

“What is she supposed to look like? Do you know?”

“The account I glanced at describes her as a young, slender woman with blond hair. She wears a light-colored gown, with a dark stain on the front.”

“I believe I shall take a run out and see if she is there.”

To Charity’s relief, he did not invite her to join him. She went for a walk through the park instead, to try to collect her muddled thoughts. She counted four ravens on the roof of the house. A few more were flying about, but not in the frenzied way that foretold good luck. Was it all nonsense? Whatever about the ravens and hauntings at Keefer Hall, it seemed there was a mystery quite unconnected with ghosts. Someone was preying on Lady Merton, and Charity wished to get the lady alone to discover in what manner she was vulnerable. Money had been used to pay for old sins ever since the Middle Ages when wandering friars had sold indulgences. It seemed Lady Merton was attempting to buy redemption. And if she was willing to pay as much as ten thousand pounds for it, it must have been a grievous sin.