Nina Coombs Pykare (16 page)

Edwina swallowed over the lump in her throat. What kind of decision had he made?

“What you did today,” he went on, “and what you have done before for the girls, I am doubly grateful for that. But I realized on our ride home that I’ve been showing my gratitude very poorly.”

She could keep silent no longer. “Indeed, milord, that is not-”

“Please!”

The earl knew how to exert authority when he chose to and the look he gave her was so commanding that she fell silent immediately.

He leaned toward her. “I have decided that the best token of my gratitude would be a sum of money. A considerable sum of money, sufficient for you to purchase a seat on the stagecoach to London and support yourself there until you are able to find another position.”

Her heart fell into her damp half boots. Leave? Go to London? “But milord-” She didn’t want to leave the castle. Curse or no curse, her place was with his children. “The girls-”

“The girls are my responsibility,” his lordship cut in. “I assure you that I won’t desert them again. I cannot send them away to school, but I will see to it that they are educated. Taken care of. Loved.”

She stood silent, her heart bouncing around in her throat. How strange that the prospect of a trip to London and employment there—a prospect which only days before would have been the answer to her most fervent prayers—now seemed the last thing she wished to do.

“Do you mean- Are you dismissing me from my position here?” she asked, her voice trembling with the intensity of her feelings.

His lordship frowned. “Of course not. I’m quite pleased with your work here. I thought I’d made that plain. I’m simply trying to be of service to you in finding a better position.”

“But I don’t wish to find a better position.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I like it here. I care about what happens to the girls and I intend to stay—unless you really wish to dismiss me.”

The earl looked at her in consternation. “I thought you would be glad to leave this cursed place.”

She shook her head. “I’m quite satisfied here, milord. Quite satisfied.”

He leaned even closer. “Please, Miss Pierce, I urge you to reconsider. You must realize that in your financial situation I cannot drive you from the castle. But for your own safety-”

“I don’t wish to leave the castle, milord,” she repeated firmly. “I’m quite sure of that.” She got to her feet. “Will there be anything else?”

The earl shook his head. “No, no. But Miss Pierce?”

“Yes, milord?”

“Please, remember. Anytime, anytime you change your mind, you need only ask me for the money. And I’ll be glad to give it to you.”

“Thank you, milord. But I shall not ask. Not ever.”

Charles stared at her, relief flooding through him. He’d hoped, he’d prayed, that she’d react just as she had. That she wouldn’t leave them. But in good conscience he’d had to make the offer. On the way home, watching her sit with her arm around Constance, it had come to him how much he owed this determined young woman. If some harm came to her because she didn’t have the resources to leave- He could never forgive himself if that happened. So he’d decided to make the offer, painful as it was, and holding his breath the whole while. But thank God she’d refused his offer. Thank God she wasn’t going to leave.

He got to his feet. “I think we’d better both get upstairs and get out of these damp clothes. I’ll see you at dinner.”

Slowly she removed his jacket. “Thank you, milord, for the use of your jacket. It kept me quite warm.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, so grateful she was going to stay that he could hardly keep himself from smiling.

* * * *

When Edwina entered the girls’ room a little later, a strange silence seemed to prevail there. It was almost as though they had heard her coming and stopped talking because of it.

She looked at Constance. “Good. You’ve changed out of your wet things.”

Constance nodded. “Yes, Miss Pierce.” Her small face was drawn and she seemed to have regressed into the frightened child Edwina had first seen. On impulse she knelt and gathered Constance into her arms. “Come, dear, don’t be so gloomy. It was only a dunking in the sea. It could have happened to anyone. I’m sure you’ll never disobey your papa like that again.”

The little girl burst into tears and clung to her fiercely. It took some time before Edwina could make any sense of the incoherent sounds issuing from her lips. But finally she made out what Constance was saying.

“I’m- s-s-cared,” Constance sobbed.

“But it’s all over, dear,” Edwina said in soothing tones. “There’s no need to be frightened of the ocean now.”

Constance shook her head and raised her tear-stained face. “Not the sea, Miss Pierce. I’m not afraid of the ocean, not really. It’s—it’s Mama. Mama wants me—to come to her.”

Edwina frowned. “Nonsense, Constance. You were simply pulled under by a wave, swept out to sea by the current.”

Looking as though she would like to believe, but was afraid to, Constance sent a fearful look at her sister. “But Henrietta said-”

“Henrietta is mistaken,” Edwina said sternly, sending a warning glance to silence the older girl. “Ghosts don’t appear in the sea. Why, everyone knows that ghosts don’t like water.”

Henrietta looked startled and Edwina thanked God that she’d thought to say it. Whether it was true or not—and she had no idea—didn’t really matter, if only it served to lessen Constance’s fears.

“As I said, ghosts don’t like water,” Edwina went on. The lie, if it were one, might as well be elaborated on. “So that couldn’t have been your mama in the waves.”

“It wasn’t Mama!” Constance cried. “It really was only a wave.”

“That’s right.”

Henrietta didn’t seem entirely convinced, but appeared at least unsure and so said nothing more.

Edwina hoped she’d given Constance something with which to hold Henrietta’s nightmares at bay. It was too bad that the older girl had to inflict her terrifying imaginings on the younger. At least Henrietta did it out of conviction, not malice.

Still, Edwina steadfastly refused to admit that such a belief could be based on any kind of reality. Henrietta was simply an impressionable child whose vivid imagination had been stirred by wild tales of curses. Time would cure this as it had so many other wounds. At least, that’s what Edwina hoped. Time, and perseverance on her part, would eventually help Henrietta become a healthy happy young woman. Edwina wouldn’t for a moment believe otherwise.

And the stone—the great stone that had come hurtling down from the parapet?—demanded the demon inside Edwina’s head. Who was responsible for that stone? She frowned. Surely the possibility existed that the stone had been dislodged by some natural means. To believe otherwise would mean she was getting as unstable as Henrietta.

She changed her clothes, saw the girls washed and fed. Then she heard their prayers, tucked them into bed, and bade them goodnight. Pausing in the doorway, she smiled back at them. “I shall leave the doors open on both sides of the schoolroom,” she said in what she hoped was an ordinary tone. “That way I can hear you if you should need me.”

Constance acknowledged this with a little nod and a smile, but Henrietta’s beautiful eyes held no expression whatsoever. The accident seemed to have pushed her even further into her distant coldness.

If only, Edwina thought with an anger that surprised her by its intensity, if only she could punish the person who had told the impressionable Henrietta these wild tales. She was fairly certain the blame for them could be laid at the door of that icy Lady Leonore. How could the woman do such a thing to these innocent children?

* * * *

Edwina pondered that while she washed and changed into her old second best gown, while she endured another evening meal during which Lady Leonore and the viscount exchanged insults. Finally she was back in her room, her stomach satisfied, but her mind still wishing for answers.

Feeling a certain uneasiness, she moved about her room in the flickering light of a single candle. Though the room was small, shadows still seemed to be lurking in every corner. Every time she moved away from the comforting halo of candlelight she felt as though someone—or some thing—was going to materialize from those shadows and pounce on her.

It was a dreadful feeling and she hated it, but she wouldn’t for a single moment give any consideration to the earl’s offer of fare to London. She would not leave the castle.

Of course she felt responsibility for the girls, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that that was all there was to it. There was something else that held her here. Perhaps it was a matter of pride, she thought, pulling her nightdress down over her head. She was too proud to run from danger. She hadn’t considered running from a ghost and now that she had evidence that a real person might be behind all this—surely that scrap of material showed there might be, even though all her efforts to find the cloak it was torn from had been unsuccessful—she was doubly sure she would not run.

She shivered slightly. Maybe tonight she’d dispense with brushing her hair. She didn’t believe she could sit a minute more with her back exposed to the shadows.

As she climbed between the green curtains into the old bed, she made a mental note to herself. Tomorrow she would stitch on another gown, perhaps the pale rose sarcenet. That would help to take Constance’s mind off today’s dunking in the ocean. She sighed and stretched. It was good to be home.

Her body stiffened. Home, where she was supposed to be safe and snug. The door that led to the hall. Had she locked it? She seemed to have a memory of doing so, but it might have been on some other night.

With a sigh she threw back the covers and grabbed up the candle. The candle flickered and seemed about to go out. Oh no! She stopped short, her heart in her throat. She didn’t want to be left in the dark. Not on this night.

But the flame gathered strength and soon she was able to proceed again. She tried the door and nodded with satisfaction. It was locked. She knew she’d checked the girls’ and the schoolroom doors earlier.

She hurried back to bed. Despite the fact that it was summer, the floor was cold to her bare feet. Made of stone, as it was, she doubted that it ever gave off any heat.

Shivering, she put the candle back on the table and climbed into bed. Maybe she would just let the candle burn through the night. There was something comforting about its small flame. Besides, it was only practical to leave it lit. With the girls having nightmares and all, it was sensible to have a light close at hand. Ready to pick up. If it served somewhat to dispel the shadows that threatened her, so much the better. No one could blame her for keeping it lit. Besides, who was to know?

The events of the day had left her exhausted. She felt as though she’d walked a hundred miles, such a weariness was upon her. Yet she felt, too, a certain sense of satisfaction. She had convinced the earl, a man who, in spite of his ordinary melancholy, could behave in quite a commanding fashion, that she would not leave—nor be driven from—Holmden Hill. She felt good about that. And their outing, in spite of Constance’s accident, had been successful. The girls had grown closer to their father, just as she’d hoped. Tomorrow she would begin a new gown, her second new gown.

* * * *

Sometime later, Edwina opened her eyes. The candle had burned low. For a moment she wondered why she’d had wakened, and then she heard it—the sound that had probably roused her.

Something—or someone—was scratching at the door. She could hear the sound quite distinctly, and, while she lay there shivering, a low mocking wail reached her ears. The sound was pitched low and she knew instinctively that it was meant for her ears alone. The scratching grew louder and more persistent.

Chapter Seventeen

Edwina lay rigid in the bed, her heart threatening to choke her. Could Lady Catherine’s ghost be outside that door? Was she waiting, waiting to show this intruder that this was her castle, her children? But it was so unfair. Why would a ghost want to her hurt her own children, children she loved?

Overwhelmed by a rush of anger, Edwina sat up in the bed. If the girls were wakened by this scratching, Constance would be terrified. Things were bad enough already. If she heard this, it would be even harder to keep the child from living in fear of the ghost of her dead mother.

And Henrietta? What about her? This evidence of a ghost would only add to the child’s insistence that her mama was calling her.

Edwina glowered into the dimly lit room. She had had enough—simply enough. She threw back the covers and leaped to her feet, grabbing up the candle she’d left lit. She didn’t know who or what was waiting for her outside the door, but she wasn’t going to stand for this any longer. She was going out there and catch them. She was going to put an end to this thing.

She hurried across the room and fumbled with the locked door. But it took too long for her trembling fingers to open it. She frowned as it finally opened—anyone in the hall would have had ample time to run off. Still, holding her candle high, she scanned the hall in both directions.

But there was nothing to be seen but darkness—thick frightening darkness that menaced her with unimaginable horrors. With a shiver she drew back into the comfort of the room. But the candle cast its meager light on something white, something lying there on the floor before her.

Slowly she lowered the candle until she could make out the small white object. Oh God! The candle shook and she fought to control the trembling of her hand. She stifled a scream. The small white object was a miniature shroud, very carefully laid out. Beside it, its mangled body covered with blood, lay a huge dead rat.

The candle trembled violently and she grabbed it with both hands to steady it. Was this gory sight to be taken as a warning? A warning to leave this place?

Her chin thrust out as she bent again, and, using the shroud as protection, picked up the rat. It wouldn’t do to let the girls see such a thing. In their present state of mind they might well become hysterical. She didn’t need that. Neither did they.