Nina Coombs Pykare (20 page)

She bit her bottom lip. The figure in white must be hiding in this room. Hadn’t she seen it come in? But where . . . A sudden sound behind her made her whirl, but there was nothing there. At least, nothing that she could see. And then, inexplicably, the candle went out—quite suddenly—in a draft of cold air, as though someone had deliberately snuffed it.

The darkness closed down on her with a heaviness that seemed to prevent her from breathing. She fought the panic threatening to engulf her. The sensible thing was to stand there quietly, to take stock and get her bearings. Then she could easily make her way to the door and out again into the hall, back to the safety of her room, her bed. She repeated this sensible advice to herself several times while her heart bounced about in her throat.

Now, she told herself, just think. Remember the placement of the furniture. The door must lay almost straight ahead. Slowly and carefully she moved in that direction.

It was a dark night, very little moonlight coming through the heavily curtained windows, and she could see almost nothing. Her eyes strained to make out some shape in the darkness, any shape, but it was useless. She just couldn’t see. Her outstretched hand encountered several pieces of furniture and she moved slowly, careful to keep from bruising herself against unseen obstacles.

Still, in spite of every effort, she couldn’t still the panic in her breast, and her eyes roamed the darkness frantically, searching for that fearful white shape. But none appeared, and finally her trembling fingers closed over the doorknob. Thank God! With a great sigh of relief she twisted it. But the door didn’t open!

Again and again she tried—even setting down the useless candlestick and using both hands—but the door refused to budge. It was locked. Finally she had to admit it was locked. She was trapped in this dark and ominous room, trapped for the night.

In the morning they would look for her or she could make enough noise to attract someone, but now everyone was abed. No one would hear her no matter how she carried on.

A violent attack of shivers hit her, making her teeth chatter together. The chill of the stone floor, of the room that had been without fire for so long, reached into her very bones. How stupid she’d been, to go chasing around the castle in only a nightdress. Now she would certainly suffer for it.

Clasping her arms around her body to still her shivering, she considered what to do next. She couldn’t stand there all night, shivering like this. She would become ill—and she couldn’t afford that. She had to get warm.

She had a sudden mental picture of the great shapes of furniture she’d glimpsed before her candle went out. Furniture draped with holland covers. And, hadn’t she seen the posters of a bed?

Carefully, feeling her way with outstretched hands, she made a circuit of the room, stripping each piece of its holland cover. By the time she reached the bed, she had an armload.

Deliberately she piled the covers one upon the other, and then, taking a deep breath, crawled under them. The room was so dark, almost black, that she had to do everything by touch alone and it was frightening to crawl into a bed that she could not see, a bed that might hold anything. As far as she knew, ghosts did not climb into bed with their victims. But, since she actually knew very little about ghosts and their ways, that wasn’t particularly comforting. Still, she was unharmed. And she was warm.

Whoever or whatever—Lady Leonore or a real ghost—had locked her in this room surely must be gone. If it meant to harm her, it had already had ample opportunity. So wouldn’t it have done so by now?

Carefully she let out her breath. The holland covers were dusty and probably none-too-clean. She could feel their chill clear through her nightdress. But right at the moment they represented her salvation and she accepted them gratefully. Gradually, as she lay there, some of the chill left her body. Her feet seemed still two blocks of ice, but she hesitated to move in order to chaff them. Then finally, they, too, warmed.

She was tired, exhausted, in fact, but sleep didn’t want to come to her. She lay in the darkness and, in spite of her efforts to assure herself that she was quite alone in the room, her senses constantly sought the presence of another. Once in a while she dozed off, but then some infinitesimal sound registered on her ears, and brought her wide awake again.

It was a long night for her—long and most uncomfortable. Yet, it could have been so much worse. She might well be shivering, half frozen on the cold stone floor of some deserted empty room. Here at least, she was warm and reasonably comfortable.

When the light of morning finally crept through the windows, she was wide awake, and she greeted the morning gratefully. Never before had she realized how wonderful daylight could look.

She threw back the holland covers. Dust, and more dust. She muffled a sneeze, but thanked God for their warmth.

She swung her now warm feet to the stone floor. They would not remain warm for long, though, she thought ruefully. The chill never left the cold stones. So it would be best to return to the bed for a while. Everyone would still be asleep. There was no use calling for help yet.

But maybe she’d take a quick turn around the room—just to have a look at the place where she had spent the night. The room looked very different in the daylight. Just a room, an ordinary room, not frightening at all.

She paused before the door. What had the creature -whatever it was—expected to achieve by locking her in like that? She put a tentative hand on the doorknob. Had the figure in white meant to frighten her or to cause her to take ill from being chilled all night? She frowned. There was just no telling.

Absently, she twisted the doorknob. Then she stood looking down at it in amazement. The door had opened!

But it had been locked. Last night she had twisted and turned it, trying every conceivable way to get it open. She couldn’t have been mistaken. Simple fear wouldn’t have bewildered her so much that she thought a door was locked when it wasn’t. No, this door had been locked.

Well, she straightened her shoulders. It wasn’t locked now—not at all. The sensible thing would be to get back to her room before the rest of the castle was up and about. It wouldn’t make a particularly good impression on anyone, if she should be found creeping about the castle in her nightdress in the wee hours of the morning. She could come back later and cover the furniture again.

She picked up the candle holder, stepped out into the empty hall, and shut the door of the room quietly behind her. Passing the viscount’s door, she had a sudden picture of him coming upon her in this unclothed condition and eyeing her in that Corinthian way. Her cheeks flamed. What a thing he could make of this! She would never live it down. Never.

She crept past his room and on down the hall. The earl’s door appeared to be a trifle ajar. She hesitated a moment and then, holding her breath, moved on past. The earl must be asleep. It was only just after dawn. He didn’t know anything about this. She wouldn’t tell him. It would only make him talk again about her leaving the castle. That was the one thing she was determined not to do. Not now.

If she hadn’t been frightened away by the falling stone or the mangled rat, certainly a chilly night in a dark room wouldn’t do it.

She straightened her shoulders and a certain swing of pride came into her step. No one was going to frighten Edwina Pierce from the place she called home. No one.

Wait! She stopped in her tracks. What was that sound? A door opening behind her? She turned, but there was nothing there, no one to see. All the doors were shut. Her imagination again. She hurried on toward her bedchamber. The girls would be waking soon and she wanted to be in her bed before they came in and found it empty.

* * * *

Inside the door of his bedchamber, Charles drew back uneasily, silently. He didn’t want her to hear him, to know that he’d seen her. Belting his dressing gown tighter around him, he scowled into the empty room. This was terrible. What on earth was Edwina Pierce doing coming like that from Crawford’s bedchamber at the crack of dawn?

Charles turned back toward his hearth, stirring up what was left of the fire and putting a log on it. He settled into a chair. His question was all too easy to answer. Crawford had a charming way with women, even ones who should know better than to succumb to his charms.

Charles frowned, his stomach gripping in disappointment. He wouldn’t have thought Edwina Pierce the kind to take her virtue so lightly. She seemed eminently sensible, not the sort to fall for Crawford’s empty blandishments. But he supposed even a sensible woman could be taken in. She couldn’t be innocent, clearly not. No woman would be leaving a man’s chamber at the crack of dawn unless . . . He didn’t want to finish the thought.

With an angry sigh, he got to his feet again. He couldn’t sit here all night worrying about the governess. Or even Crawford. Crawford was his heir, and the man had been a good friend through his time of trouble, through Catherine’s loss. And even after. But friend or not, Crawford was too free with women. Always had been. A woman was precious, to be respected, cared for, not toyed with, not used and tossed aside.

Should he talk to Crawford? Tell him to leave Miss Pierce alone? Charles groaned. He could talk to Crawford till they were both blue in the face, but he doubted if anything he said would make an impression on the man. Crawford was the epitome of the man about town. He existed to win women, or so it seemed, and to ask him not to pursue the essence of his existence was certainly an exercise in futility.

Charles tore off his dressing gown and threw it over the other wing chair. Damnation! Why must he be plagued with one difficulty after another like this? Talking to Crawford would be worse than not saying anything at all. Still, there was enough trouble at the castle without Crawford taking advantage of Miss Pierce, whether she was willing or not. So something must be done. The master of the castle was the one to do it.

Charles climbed back between the curtains of his bed and tried to settle himself to rest. Since speaking to Crawford was out of the question, he’d have to speak to Miss Pierce instead. She really had to be warned. The trouble was he hadn’t the least idea how to go about doing it.

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. She was such a stubborn determined creature. If he didn’t do this properly, he could force her further into Crawford’s arms, make her spring to the fellow’s defense. That wouldn’t be a good idea. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want that at all.

Chapter Twenty

Edwina didn’t return to her bed, but washed and dressed, and dozed in her chair till it was time to rouse the girls. She was a little unsure whether she should tell the earl about the night’s events, about being locked in that deserted room. Probably not. He wouldn’t listen to anything about real people being behind the ghostly happenings—though she did think she’d convinced him that what had happened at the seashore had been just that, an accident—so he’d probably insist that it was Lady Catherine’s ghost who’d locked her in that empty room.

Edwina sighed. That wouldn’t be good. How could she get him to disbelieve in the ghost of Lady Catherine if she gave him further proof that such a ghost existed? No, she’d have to pass over this, too, as she had the mangled rat. Otherwise, out of his gratitude, the earl would again be urging her to run away to the safety of London.

* * * *

When Edwina and the girls came down the great staircase for breakfast, they found the earl standing in the foyer, awaiting them. A bit of joy bubbled up in her heart at the sight of him. Now she could ask him to go with them on their walk through the woods. She was tired after her difficult night, but the girls were counting on this walk. She didn’t want to disappoint them. This was to be their first excursion abroad since their visit to the seashore and they wanted their papa along. They’d had a good time at the seashore, too, in spite of Constance’s accident, a very good time.

Edwina smiled again, thinking of his boyish expression the day he lifted them down from the carriage. It would be good to see that man again instead of the brooding melancholic one who except for his breakfasts with his daughters and that one excursion to the seashore kept to his study in despair. But she did wish she’d had time to finish her new rose colored gown. It would have added a festive touch to the occasion.

“Good morning,” the earl said, smiling at his daughters. He stood straighter than usual, she thought, and so perhaps he would be up to an outing today. The girls would be pleased.

She smiled, too. “Good morning, milord. We’re going for a long walk in the woods after breakfast—to observe the trees and learn their names. Perhaps you would care – to – join—us.”

When he turned his eyes on her, the last words died in her throat. They were blazing—those eyes—as though she had betrayed him in some unspeakable fashion. She felt her cheeks heat up as the blood rushed to them. What had she done? How had she offended him?

His eyes raked her over in a way that made her stomach quiver with spasms of guilt. Though she knew herself innocent of any wrongdoing, his look was so strong that she couldn’t help feeling guilty. Still she forced herself to remain calm and return his gaze.

Finally, when she thought she could bear it no longer, he spoke. “I’m unable to accompany you today,” he said, and though the words were spoken in a soft enough tone, his eyes continued to blaze at her accusingly. “Perhaps you will find better company along the way.”

Better company? What did he mean by that? She mustered her senses and tried to make a decent reply. “I think not, milord. How could we find better than you? You were excellent company when we made our journey to the sea.” Though her knees were shaking, she forced herself to look directly into those accusing eyes. “But perhaps you’ll join us another day.”

“Perhaps so,” the earl replied, but his voice gave her little hope for such an outcome, and, as he turned away to lead the girls into breakfast, even his broad back spoke of anger.