Sandra Heath (13 page)

“Maybe if you was to climb the tower and look from the belfry?” The boy nodded toward the church behind her.

Henrietta turned and her mouth went dry at the way the tower seemed to move against the sky. The belfry was open to the elements and she could see the bells inside. Climb all the way up there? “Oh, I don’t know about that ...” she began.

Kit looked suspiciously at the boy. Something was very wrong here.

The boy pleaded. “Please, miss, it’s important.”

“Why don’t
you
go?” Henrietta suggested.

He shook his head. “Mam says I’m not to go in the church lessen it’s in my Sunday best,” he said. “Anyway,
I
already reckon I’ve seen the Frenchie. It’s
you
as needs to see ‘er too. Just so I’m not the only one that says she’s there.”

The point was valid, so Henrietta reluctantly decided to do as he asked. Besides, it was her duty to ascertain whether or not the
Légère
was in the vicinity. She gathered her cloak and cumbersome riding skirt, and continued up the steep steps toward the church porch at the top.

The moment Henrietta disappeared into the church, the boy grinned and tossed a gleaming coin before running off down toward the town. Kit rose to his feet. No doubt that was the easiest money the little tyke had ever made! Who crossed his grubby palm? Amabel? Yes, of course, for who else would want foolish Henrietta to climb to an exposed and exceedingly dangerous belfry? Alarmed, the wraith sped up the graveyard toward the porch.

Chapter Thirteen

St. Tydfa’s was shadowy inside, with little daylight penetrating the stained glass window above the altar. The cold air smelled of candles and ancient stone, and Henrietta’s footsteps echoed on the uneven stone flags as she walked slowly toward the archway through which she could see the bell ropes hanging from the belfry far above. Her heartbeats had quickened unpleasantly, and she trembled as she brushed past them to the narrow door that opened onto the winding steps leading up through the tower. There was nothing to hold on to, and over the centuries the steps had been worn away in the middle, so that they sloped unevenly. Going up wouldn’t be so bad, but coming down would be very difficult and unpleasant indeed. Slowly she began the climb.

Behind her, Kit swiftly examined the nave, vestry, and side chapel for any sign of Amabel, but he found nothing. The church seemed absolutely empty. Were he and Jane wrong after all to think she had come here? Then he remembered not seeing her horse anywhere either, and he relaxed a little. Maybe the boy was just a prankster, and the coin he’d tossed had nothing to do with Mrs. Brimstone.

Deciding that this must indeed be the case, Kit began to follow Henrietta up to the belfry. If he’d remained in the nave just a little longer, he would have seen the wooden lid of a medieval cope store being raised. Amabel climbed out, and knowing nothing of a ghostly presence, hastened to the foot of the tower, from where she gazed up past the ropes. She was waiting until Henrietta stepped onto the wooden gallery surrounding the bells.

Henrietta had never cared for heights, and her recent misadventures on the Yorkshire cliffs made the fear even worse. Her whole body shook as at last she reached the gallery and stood beside the hells. There was a sheer fall on either side—to the left a headlong plunge to the churchyard, to the right straight down to the stone floor at the bottom of the tower. The stonework wasn’t in good repair and the air moaned softly between the bells, making them seem to hum. Her legs trembled and her palms were damp and cold inside her gloves as she leaned nervously forward, sufficiently to look across the bay toward the horizon.

Kit hovered anxiously at the last curve of the steps, ready to pull back out of sight if she happened to turn. Now that he was up here, his suspicions of Amabel returned. Jane had warned him to be on his guard for a whiff of sulfur, and by Gad, his nostrils were suddenly filled with the stuff. His every instinct screamed out that this was a trap! A trap!

Amabel tugged upon the rope, and the bell began to move. Henrietta’s back was turned, and she sensed nothing, but Kit saw what was happening. Horrified, he pitted his will against the bell, and it became still again, albeit at an angle that defied gravity. He grimaced with effort as Amabel pulled again and again with all her might.

Marcus had followed Rowley’s whines and barks to the lych-gate, where he tethered his horse next to Henrietta’s. He’d passed the boy running down the lane, but neither gave the other a second glance. With Jane close upon his heels, he began to hurry up the steep steps, calling Henrietta as he went.

She saw him from the belfry and drew back in dismay just as Kit’s power failed and Amabel succeeded in swinging the bell. With a resounding clang, it swept across the very spot where Henrietta had been standing a heartbeat before. The tower vibrated, and Henrietta screamed, falling back against the wall. She slumped at the very top of the steps, and saw Kit in a blur just before she fainted momentarily

Amabel had heard Marcus shout and now dashed back into the nave. Knowing she couldn’t leave the church without being seen, she returned to her hiding place in the cope store. As the lid closed, Kit ran furiously from the tower, and once again found nothing at all.

Marcus dashed into the church, his fearful gaze drawn instantly to the foot of the tower, where one of the ropes was still moving. He’d heard Henrietta scream and expected to see her lifeless body, but to his relief there was no sign of her. “Henrietta? Are you all right?” he shouted. A tearful voice answered from the belfry, and he tossed his top hat and gloves to the floor and ran toward the steps.

Jane, pale faced and apprehensive, hurried in with Rowley. “Kit! What’s happened? Is Henrietta all right?”

“Yes, but it was a close thing.”

“Have you seen Amabel?”

“No.”

“You’re quite sure she didn’t come out?”

“Well, I didn’t have my eyes on the porch every second, so I suppose she could have slipped out and gone around to the back of the church—

“We’ll look, or rather, Rowley will.”

They went outside again and Jane put the spaniel down. “Find Amabel, Rowley,” she instructed.

The spaniel’s nose twitched. Amabel? Whatever for? There was a
much
more interesting odor to investigate! Nose to the ground, Rowley set off toward the rear of the church. Jane and Kit followed, thinking he’d picked up Amabel’s scent. But the foolish spaniel had detected something else entirely, something he was very soon to wish he hadn’t found at all.

Amabel peeped from the cope store and saw Marcus’ hat and gloves lying on the floor. Hearing him ascending the steps, she clambered out to make good her escape. She paused at the porch, but on seeing no one in the churchyard, she hurried down the steps to the lane and then around the upper corner of the churchyard wall, where she’d hidden her horse. It’s hooves clattered noisily upon the hard snow and ice in the lane as she urged it away.

Hearing the horse, Jane and Kit whirled about, but at the same moment Rowley discovered the source of the smell he’d been following. It was beneath a heap of old leaves and other rotting vegetation, and with a volley of excited barks, the spaniel pounced. Supernatural pandemonium immediately broke out as the Mulborough bogle took to its heels. It was a horrid little red-faced manikin, about twelve inches high, dressed in scruffy sacking. It’s rat-like face had eyes as black as coal, set above a long pointed nose, and it had whiskers and sharp teeth. Rowley would have done better to remember that bogles were not defenseless, and that if there was one thing they resented above all else, it was being flushed from their smelly hiding places, but the reckless spaniel gave chase, ignoring Jane’s cries of warning. “No, Rowley! No!”

Suddenly the bogle turned and Rowley was caught unawares as in a flash the vile manikin jumped on his back and sank its needlelike teeth into his neck. The spaniel yelped with pain and fled, with the bogle kicking its bony heels into his flanks.

Jane and Kit were rooted with shock, but then recovered enough to cause stones to strike the bogle. But they only succeeded in hitting poor Rowley too, so the dismayed ghosts stopped. The terrified spaniel leaped over the churchyard wall into the lane and set off toward the town, with the bogle still kicking and biting for all it was worth.

As silence returned, Jane pressed trembling hands to her mouth. “Oh, Rowley,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. Then she gathered her skirts. “We must follow!”

Kit accompanied her as she hastened toward the lych-gate, but he knew that few bogle-ridden spirits were ever seen again, let alone rescued.

Chapter Fourteen

Knowing nothing of the ghostly mayhem in the churchyard, Marcus had reached Henrietta. He glanced down as he heard Amabel’s departing horse, but the yew trees obscured his view and he didn’t see the rider. His attention returned to Henrietta, who was clinging to the stonework. “Are you all right?” he asked gently, taking one of her hands and pulling her safely into his strong arms.

Hot tears blurred her eyes. “Don’t let me go, please,” she whispered.

“I have you safely now.” He tightened his grip reassuringly.

“S-someone rang the bell. If you hadn’t arrived when you did ...” She looked at him in puzzlement. “Why are you here?”

“I could ask the same of you. I’m here because I saw you leaving the abbey and I followed, intending to give you the scolding you deserve.” He prudently omitted the invisible dog; it was too fantastic. “Do you think you can manage the steps?”

“No!”

He put his hand to her chin and forced her to look at him. “You have me now, and I’ll help you.”

She swallowed. “I’m too afraid....”

“I know, but I won’t let anything happen. Come.” He untwined her arms, then took one of her hands firmly and stood. “I’ll go first, and we’ll take it very carefully.”

She stared at him. “Please don’t make me, Marcus.”

“Do as you’re told,” he instructed quietly, drawing her to her feet and turning to go down the first step. Slowly and tortuously they descended, but at the foot of the tower, her legs, already trembling, collapsed beneath her. She had to be helped to the nearest pew, where Marcus sat with her, still holding her hand. “There, that was not so bad, was it?”

“It was terrifying. I—I’m shaking all over...” she whispered. The brief glimpse she’d had of Kit flashed before her, but she knew the ghost had been there to protect, not harm her.

Marcus looked at her. “Can you tell me what happened? What were you doing in the belfry?”

“The boy thought he’d seen the
Légère,
and I climbed the tower to see if I could confirm it. Didn’t you see him by the lych-gate?”

“If I’m not mistaken, we passed in the lane.”

A thought occurred to her. “Maybe the boy rang the bell. Perhaps he thought it was a joke!”

“Knocking someone from the top of a church tower is a
joke
?
A rather strange sense of humor, don’t you think? Besides, he must have been virtually in the town by the time the bell was rung; in fact, I believe the real culprit rode away when I was with you in the tower.”

“Whoever it was can’t have known I was there.”

“You surely don’t imagine that it was an accident? For heaven’s sake, what will it take to convince you you’re in danger? Think about everything that’s happened to you since you came here.”

A sliver of deep unease slid through her. “I—I know I was
deliberately
struck with the candlestick, but are you suggesting that the other things weren’t accidents? Someone is trying to harm me?” The ghosts came to mind again, but every instinct told her they were benevolent.

“After today, I’d say something more final than mere harm was intended.”

She didn’t want to consider such a thought. “Oh, what nonsense! Who on earth would wish to do that?”

Amabel’s name entered his mind, but he had no proof, only a deeply suspicious intuition where the lady was concerned, so he didn’t mention her. “Don’t dismiss it as nonsense, Henrietta. I believe someone wishes to be rid of you. I don’t know who, or why, but I am convinced it is so, and if I hadn’t come here when I did today, they would probably have succeeded.”

She lowered her eyes. “I would prefer not to alarm Charlotte with this. I will tell her I came here to the church, but that is all.”

“As you wish. By the way, we’ve established the reason for my presence, but what of you? You aren’t fit enough to leave the abbey at all, let alone ride this distance.”

Glad to be temporarily diverted from talk of murderous intentions, she told him the tragic love story she’d read in Lady Chloe’s journal. “That’s why I came here today. I had just found Jane Courtenay’s grave and was about to come in here to look for Kit Fitzpaine’s, when the boy jumped down from the tree. The rest you know.”

Marcus’ eyes moved to the wall behind her. “Well, if you wish to see Lord Christopher Fitzpaine’s tomb, you need do no more than turn around.”

There it was, flanked by marble angels, wreaths, and various other funereal symbols. The contrast with Jane’s simple resting place could not have been greater, but then Kit had been of noble birth; Jane had not.

Marcus got up to examine it more closely. “Are you saying this is pretense, and he isn’t buried here at all?”

“Nor is Jane out in the churchyard. On the day they were supposedly laid to rest here, they actually died on the Goodwins. Within sight of Bramnells, apparently.”

“The Goodwins? A far from pleasant fate,” he murmured, knowing the murderous sands only too well.

She watched as he continued to examine the tomb. “It’s good to be able to speak to you without rancor.”

The words touched a nerve and he turned sharply. “Rancor that was entirely due to your actions.”

Her eyes cooled. “You were at fault, not me.”

“You discarded me in favor of Sutherton.”

“Discarded? I was
saved
from you.” She got up unsteadily. “I should have known it was foolish to think we could he friends again. There is no need for you to linger here now, for I can manage by myself.”