Lord Melvedere's Ghost (8 page)

Deciding
to leave him asleep, Jamie yawned widely and eased the carriage the
last few miles toward home. He wasn’t going to wake up Warren, his
butler, or Mrs Nantwich the Housekeeper. He was perfectly capable
of securing the exhausted horses himself and could stow the
carriage in the barn for now. Potter, his groomsman and groundsman
could clean it down and store it in the coach barn in the
morning.

Impatience was riding high by the time he saw the familiar
stone pillars of Melvedere come into view. The high brick wall ran
alongside the road, clearly marking the border of the property in a
way that was visible whether it was day or night. The iron gates
stood open in welcome, beckoning guests down the long pale ribbon
of driveway that filled Jamie with an almost childlike
eagerness.

Melvedere stood on the far side of the trees, nestled along
the banks of the River Solace. Its huge stone facade was broken by
row upon row of square windows, four floors of them in all, some of
which gleamed white from the closed shutters within. They lay like
eyelids, closed against the cold night. At the bottom of the house,
a few stone steps led one to the front door with its highly
polished knocker and knob, both of which were missing because the
master of the house wasn’t at home.

Instead
of pulling up to the front of the house like he really wanted to,
Jamie drew around the side toward the assorted buildings at the far
side of the property. Although they would have a short walk to the
house, it meant that the servants wouldn’t be disturbed by their
arrival. He wondered when he had ever changed enough to start to
consider his servants’ sleep requirements, but his own conscience
wouldn’t allow him to be so callous as to wake them in the middle
of the night, especially when he, Jonathan, and even Cecily, were
perfectly capable of seeing to themselves.

By the
time they arrived at the kitchen door, Cecily was shivering in the
cool night air. She had just had probably the worst nights’ sleep
of her entire life and was so cold her teeth were inelegantly
beginning to chatter. She glanced at Jonathan who looked bright
eyed and alert, and Jamie, who although looked tired, didn’t appear
to have been bothered by either the uncomfortable carriage ride or
the lack of sleep.

She
looked at Jamie warily when he stood back to allow her to precede
him into the gloom of what appeared to be the kitchens.

“
The ghosts won’t come and get you, honest,” Jamie muttered,
rolling his eyes at Cecily’s newfound timidity.

Cecily
jumped and swallowed. “Ghosts?”

“
There is reportedly one, or maybe two. But they are mere
superstition. There is no truth to the stories. I will tell you
about them one day but, for now,” he nodded toward the kitchen and
waved her in, “do you want to go in before we all catch our
deaths?”

Cecily
stumbled forward, glancing around her at the huge, cavernous room
cautiously. Pots hung practically everywhere. The huge table
sitting in the middle of the room seemed to go on for miles, but
was clearly scrubbed and lay empty. Several huge dressers lined the
walls carrying a vast assortment of pots and foods. The smell that
hung in the air was simply divine. Pie, gravy, vegetables, all
combined into a jumble of tantalisation that made her feel somewhat
light headed.

The door
clicked quietly behind Jamie, who slid the bolt home with a sigh of
relief. He couldn’t believe that their journey had gone so
smoothly. Beside the one altercation in the field, there had been
no sign of any French for miles and that unnerved him. As he began
to question why, he determinedly closed the thought out and put it
to one side to consider and discuss with Jonathan,
later.

“
Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms,” he muttered instead,
moving to the side door that led to the main body of the
house.

It
didn’t occur to Cecily to question the fact that he was showing
them to their rooms rather than the butler or serving staff. Did
Jamie own the house? Or was he merely a guest?

“
Who owns this house?” Cecily whispered, peering around her
cautiously. She tried not to look at Jonathan who, seemingly
without trying, appeared dark and forbidding in his coachman’s
cloak and hat pulled low. She shivered warily and sidled closer to
the reassuring and strangely familiar bulk of Jamie.

“
I do,” Jamie’s reply was met with a gasp of surprise and she
caught the flash of Jonathan’s smile through the
darkness.

Cecily
glanced around her with newfound curiosity. It was evident there
were serving staff given that Jamie was seemingly away for long
periods of time, yet the house was clean and well scrubbed. She
hadn’t seen much of the house but, if the kitchen was anything to
go by, the place definitely had a housekeeper, and most probably an
army of servants to help run the place.

She
followed Jamie out of the kitchen, into a long corridor that was
pitch-black. It was colder than the kitchen. The darkness held a
chill of foreboding that made her dread going further, into what
should be the welcoming warmth of the main body of the house.
Wrapping her arms protectively around her waist, she tried to peer
through the darkness in an attempt to find anything that was
vaguely welcoming. Apart from huge portraits hanging austerely many
feet off the ground, there was little to show the place was
actually a home. It even smelled a little fusty and
unused.

Trudging
after Jamie’s broad shoulders, she suddenly began to wish that she
had stayed with Portia and Archie. After all, she knew very little
about Jamie or Jonathan, and even less about Melvedere Manor. She
felt cold and alone and, although it wasn’t an altogether
unfamiliar feeling, an acute sense of abandonment and
isolation.

Stop it, you are just tired,
she
chastised herself, aware of her breath fogging out before her as
they passed through what appeared to be a great hall on the way to
the huge stone staircase running along the far wall. Moonlight
valiantly tried to pierce the stifling gloom but to no avail. By
the time they arrived at the top of the stairs, passed what
appeared to be an empty corridor, Cecily was thoroughly confused
and disorientated. Unless it was her wayward imagination, she had
the strangest sensation that they were being watched, and sidled
even closer to Jamie as they marched through the gloom.

She
didn’t need to look behind her to know that Jonathan was close
behind, and for that she was very grateful. Having his bulk behind
her was somewhat reassuring, if only she dared look back to make
sure it was really him and not one of the ghosts Jamie had
mentioned downstairs.

Giving
herself a mental shake, she was so lost in her thoughts that she
didn’t notice Jamie had stopped walking. She stumbled into his back
with an ‘omph’ of surprise.

“
Sorry,” she muttered, rubbing her bruised nose. She couldn’t
see anything other than the outline of his face in the shadows. The
darkened caress of nightfall gave his face a far sharper edge than
usual and made him appear almost sinister. Shivering against the
cold and fear, she cast a frantic glance back at Jonathan, and
almost screamed in surprised to find the corridor behind her now
empty.

“
Where is Jonathan?” She stammered, hoping to God that he had
not remained behind in the kitchen.

“
He has gone to the guest room he usually uses when he stops
over here. You will see him in the morning,” Jamie snapped feeling
somewhat churlish over her avid interest in his colleague. Shoving
open the door next to them, he waved a hand toward the
room.

“
This is yours,” he snapped, nodding toward the huge cavernous
room that Archie usually used when he stayed over. “The candles are
on the table beside the door.” He stepped back and turned down the
corridor. He didn’t need candles. He had grown up in the house and
knew it like the back of his hand, but was aware that Cecily had no
idea where she was. For now, that suited his purposes perfectly.
“I’ll come and fetch you in the morning. I’ll send one of the maids
up to assist you with anything you may need later, when they are up
and about, and you have had some rest.”

“
Wait!” Cecily gasped, staring at his rapidly retreating back
as it was swallowed up by the darkness. She was shocked and annoyed
when he made no attempt to wait, or even appear to have heard her.
“How rude,” she muttered when she heard the quiet click of a door
further down the hall. She could only assume it was his room
somewhere down there, but where exactly she wasn’t sure, and didn’t
want to know. She certainly wasn’t going after him.

A cold
puff of air swept over her shoulder and she spun on her heel to
stare down the other end of the corridor in horror. There was
nothing but impenetrable blackness. With a shiver she scurried into
the room and closed the door, fumbling for several moments for a
key before realising that it wasn’t in the door.

Inside
the room wasn’t as dark as the corridor. The moon left a hazy glow
in the huge, almost cavernous room, and was enough for her to
identify the box of beeswax candles on the small table, and a
spill, although there was no fire with which to light
it.

Shaking
her head, she glanced over at the cold and empty grate, but in the
darkness couldn’t even see a basket of logs or kindling. Sighing
deeply, she stared at the fog of her breath for a moment while she
contemplated what to do.

Clearly
Jamie had staff in residence but had no intention of waking them to
see to their guests’ needs. That was fine by Cecily. She was more
than capable of taking care of herself, but not in such unfamiliar
surroundings, and especially when she couldn’t see a thing.
Smothering a yawn, she had only one option.

Climb
into bed, and get some sleep.

With
another yawn, she moved toward the huge four-poster and sat down,
tugging her boots off with a sigh of relief. Wiggling her toes in
an attempt to get some warmth back into them, she braced one ankle
on her knee and began to rub.

It took
a moment before she realised that there was something
wrong.

Glancing
up, a scream lodged in her throat as she caught sight of the empty
space at the doorway. She knew she had closed the door. She could
remember hearing the quiet click as she closed it firmly behind
her. Of course she had, she had leaned against it while studying
the room. So how had it come open again, all by itself?

Frowning, she slowly rose and moved cautiously toward the
blackness, a dark frown on her face. The inky blackness on the
other side of the doorway was forbidding and she hated the sight of
it, but she couldn’t go to sleep – wouldn’t go to sleep, with the
doorway open and that blackness there – waiting. She could
practically feel someone watching her.

Don’t be such a nincompoop,
she
chastised herself. Throwing her shoulders back, she stomped across
the room with her eyes locked firmly upon the door. She didn’t dare
study the darkness too closely and couldn’t bring herself to go out
into the corridor to see if anyone was there. Instead, she grabbed
hold of the cold, hard wood and slammed it shut with more force
than was necessary, pushing it with the flat of her hand to make
sure it was properly closed. To confirm to herself that she had
done the job properly this time, she grabbed hold of the handle and
pulled.

To her
horror, she felt the cold brass of the smoothly polished knob begin
to turn against her palm. Immediately letting go, her eyes grew
round and she simply stood there, frozen in horror as she stared
through the gloom at the knob. It wasn’t bright enough to see
detailing within the room, but she could see the polished metal
turning in the darkness.

Standing
back, she watched it pause. Sweat began to bead her brow, despite
the chill within the room, and she began to tremble. Her stomach
churned, and she fought a wave of dizziness so strong that she
wondered for one brief moment if she was going to be sick all over
whoever was trying to get in.

The door
slowly crept toward her. She had a choice, she could either stand
there and wait for it to hit her, or she could surprise whoever was
on the other side, yank the door open and ask them what they were
doing. She wanted to run over to the huge bed, climb under it and
pretend she wasn’t in. She wanted to run screaming down the
corridor as though the hounds of Hell were nipping at her heels.
Instead, she took a deep breath, grabbed the handle and yanked
hard, dodging around the door as it slammed back against the
wall.

Her
heart stopped as she stared into the empty space of the corridor.
Stepping into the doorway she glanced up and down the hall, but
could see nothing more than the inky blackness she was really
beginning to loathe.

Muttering dire imprecations for whoever was playing silly
games, she turned to go back into the room and walked straight into
the closed door. Fumbling for the knob for several moments, she
frantically pushed and twisted for several long minutes before
finally getting her scattered wits about her enough to co-ordinate
her movements and push the door open.

Heart
pounding, she slammed the door closed again. This time she pushed
the table across the doorway, followed by a huge, heavily
embroidered chair. She didn’t care about the sliding noise it made
against the highly polished floor, or the thumping of the table
against the wall as she adapted its usage to a blockade. If a
servant got up to investigate then they could at least furnish her
with a light.