The Countess (15 page)

I was counting his heartbeats, feeling them deep inside myself. Solid and warm and ever so steady, those heartbeats of his. I could breathe now. I didn't want to, but I pulled back, just a bit. I didn't want to lose the heat of him, or I simply knew I'd just freeze up and shatter onto the floor.

“I'm all right, yes, really, I am now all right.”

“There is no fire in your bedchamber?”

“No fire.”

“The armoire didn't fall over?”

“The armoire didn't move.”

“No bats came flying through the windows?”

“No bats.”

He cursed then. I was so surprised I nearly fell over.

“It's that damned Blue Room,” he said, and cursed some more. “You saw what you believed to be a ghost, didn't you? You fancied you saw something, and it scared you witless.”

“I did see something. It was horrible, and it was
real. It tried to kill me with a knife that had a wicked curved blade. I grabbed George and ran. Here. To you.”

If he thought that was strange, if he wondered why I wouldn't run instead to my husband, who was only one bedchamber beyond his at the end of the corridor, he didn't say anything, just pulled me back against him again. I wrapped my arms tightly around his back. His flesh was so warm, so smooth, and he was a man—a dangerous man. Here I was all plastered against him, and I had almost nothing on at all. A simple nightgown.

“Oh, damn,” I said, and very slowly I began to pull away from him.

There was a measure of amusement and something else I could not identify in his voice. “I wondered how long it would take for you to realize that you were up close against the beast, and he just might be more dangerous than whatever it was you saw in The Blue Room.” Then he sighed, a very deep sigh. “You know, Andy, the beast isn't dangerous at all, but you just can't bring yourself to believe that, can you?”

I couldn't deal with this now, I just couldn't. “You are speaking nonsense, and it simply isn't appropriate now.”

He laughed. “Come with me. Let's get some light in here, and you can tell me more about this creature who attacked you with a knife. George, be quiet, I'll pick you up again, just give me another minute to light the candles.”

George and I trailed after him, because I wasn't about to let more than a foot get between us. But first, I closed his bedchamber door and locked it.

“I don't think the creature followed me, but I don't want to take any chances. If the creature were to come in, just perhaps you would swoon with fright, and I would once again find myself in a very bad fix.”

He just shook his head at me. “You were so frightened you couldn't even talk as of two minutes ago, but now you can jest about it. You are really quite amazing.” He was still laughing when he managed to get the candles lit.

He held up the branch of candles and looked me up and down. “You're probably getting cold,” he said, and fetched me his dressing gown. He dressed me in it as if I were a child. Then he tied the sash at my waist.

George whimpered. John leaned down and picked him up.

“Thank you for coming to the door so quickly. Another three seconds, and I would have tried to kick it in.”

He looked down at my bare feet. “You say the most outlandish things. It is a gift you've got.” He set George on the floor again, and moved the candle branch to a small table beside the door. Then he walked right up to me, pulled me against him, and began stroking my hair. It was curling wildly down my back, my night hair ribbon that secured it was long gone.

“Are you all right now?”

“Yes,” I said slowly, and now I knew fear from another quarter.

“Perhaps,” he said, pulling away from me and picking up George again, “it's time for you to fetch your husband. You know, that old man right down
the corridor just on the left? Surely he is the one, not your step-nephew, to help you in this matter, don't you think?”

“You bastard,” I said, turned on my bare heel, and walked to the door. I unlocked it. I was pleased that my hands were steady.

When I pulled the door open, I saw Lawrence and Thomas running from opposite directions toward me.

Lawrence reached me first. He took in John's dressing gown, my bare feet, my wild hair, and said, “Something happened. Are you all right?”

I stood there, apart from him, because I had my balance again, and I didn't want to be pressed against another man, regardless of who he was. “Yes,” I said. “George and I are both fine.”

Thomas came to a panting stop. Even with his dressing gown flapping around his bare feet and ankles, his hair tousled all over his head, he looked beautiful.

“What is going on here?” he said, but Lawrence just shook his head.

“I don't know as yet. But something has happened. Andy?”

We were all standing there in the middle of John's bedchamber, the candlelight flickering slightly because there was an open window beside John's bed. I hugged myself, but that wasn't enough. I leaned down and picked up George. I wasn't about to let him go. He seemed to realize that something was going on here and that I needed him. He settled himself comfortably in my arms.

“Tell them what happened,” John said, and he walked away to the fireplace to set a fire.

Then Amelia was standing in the open doorway staring at all of us, that lovely black hair of hers streaking down her back, like a long silk swatch.

“I woke up suddenly,” I said, and swallowed because I heard a tremor in my voice. “I don't know why, but I did. And I saw something very ugly, not really human, and it was standing like a dead thing at the foot of my bed, still as a statue, like it wasn't really there. I realized soon enough that it was an old woman, hideous, with tangled white hair, and when I asked her what she wanted, she said I was an abomination, and other things along that line, and that I would pay for it all. Then she raised this knife and came toward me. I threw a pillow at her, grabbed George, and we managed to get out of the bedchamber.”

There was silence.

John said, “Do you remember exactly what the old woman said to you?”

I shook my head. “Perhaps it will straighten itself out tomorrow. Right now, it's just a blur except for the abomination part. One doesn't easily forget being called an abomination.”

And the silence continued with four sets of eyes just staring at me.

“Listen to me, I know you don't want to believe me, not after what I felt in the Black Chamber and what I said happened to Amelia, but it is all true. I would not make this up. Actually, I don't think I would even be able to conjure this up. It was terrifying. It was very real. The old woman tried to kill me.”

There was more silence, then my husband said in
a very low, gentle voice, “Certainly something happened, Andy. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Excuse me,” John said. “I'm going to The Blue Room and see what I can find.”

“I'll come with you,” Thomas said.

I knew, of course, that the room would be perfectly empty. The old woman wouldn't be there. Why would she remain?

“You have had quite a fright,” Amelia said. “No matter what happened, dream or something else, you are still shaking. Come and sit down, Andy.”

“No,” I said. “I want to go back to The Blue Room.” I ignored my husband, whose hand was stretched out toward me. George trotted after me. We walked down that corridor together, and I felt the curdling fear grow stronger and stronger with each step nearer.

By the time I reached the open door, I felt numb with fear. It was a horrible way to feel. I felt helpless, and my brain just didn't want me to move in any direction. I just wanted to shut myself down.

George barked.

“It's all right,” John called out. “Both of you can come in.”

“There is nothing here,” Thomas said, and I saw that he was gingerly moving his left hand. What the devil could possibly be wrong with his damned left hand?

“I didn't expect the old woman would remain to greet you after she failed to kill me. Or perhaps she meant to frighten me, if that is what she meant by me paying for all of it. I don't know, but that knife with its curved blade was sharp. It glittered when she raised it over her head.”

“A curved blade?” John said, and grew very still.

“Yes. It wasn't silver, either. It looked like burnished gold. Why?”

He cursed under his breath, then said, “Just a moment.” And he was gone.

I
sat down on the edge of a delicate winged chair, George thankfully content to remain settled in my lap. I stroked his ears while I sat there, saying nothing, just looking into the cold fireplace.

Lawrence and Amelia came into the room. “Andy,” Lawrence said, and came to where I sat. He kneeled beside me and took my hand. “You are in a new house. So much happened today, frightening things, unexpected things, things that could easily give the most phlegmatic of individuals violent nightmares. My God, you even fell and hit your head. Who knows what that blow to the head could produce in the dark of the night?”

I smiled at him. Everything he said was quite true. “I did not make it up. I did not dream it. It all happened just as I told you.”

Amelia said, “Andy, nothing like this has ever happened before here at Devbridge Manor. Has it, Uncle Lawrence?”

He shook his head. “There have been stories, of course, of spirits in this bedchamber, of strange
noises, and shadows that should not have been here, but none of us have ever seen anything unusual. It has always been servants' tales, nothing more.”

“No,” Thomas said slowly. “That is not quite true. I remember I was in here once, not long after Caroline died, and I was just sitting there, in front of the fire, reading, and I must have fallen asleep. Something touched my cheek, and it felt warm and yet somehow like a touch of ice at the same time. When I opened my eyes, I saw her, but just for an instant, and then she was gone, simply vanished.”

I stared at him. I didn't want to believe him. It sounded like a fanciful boy's imagination at work. But then, what was I? I was a girl with a very vivid imagination.

But I hadn't dreamed it, I hadn't.

I looked up when John came back into the room. George raised his head and wuffed. I began patting him again, slowly, slowly.

“My knife is in its place, the cabinet locked.”

I stared at him.

“I collect knives,” he said to me. “One of my most valuable is a royal Moorish ceremonial knife, more than three hundred years old. It has a sharp curved blade, a fine silk red tassel attached to its handle. There are two large rubies set in the handle. Most importantly, its blade is gold, not silver. It is there, safely locked beneath its glass cover.”

“I want to see the knife,” I said, then rose and walked toward the door before my husband could hem and haw and demand to know if I was as mad as his second wife.

John perforce had to come with me since I had no
idea where he kept his knife collection. It was in his bedchamber, of course.

He lit more candles. All of us trailed after him, even Amelia, who was yawning and saying that it was just too much for my mind, that it was a strange dream that any of us could have had, given all that had happened today, this my first full day at Devbridge Manor.

I said nothing, just marched after John. I nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw that knife lying there on a bed of crimson velvet. I did take a quick step back.

“That's the knife the old woman was holding,” I said. “I remember the tassel now. It swayed and fell back when she raised the knife. And the two big rubies, one at each end of the handle. All I remember is bright flashes of red.”

I turned to look at all of them. “How could the knife have gotten back here so quickly?”

“It couldn't have,” Lawrence said matter-of-factly. “You must have seen it earlier when you came in here and it became the knife in your nightmare.”

“No, I did not,” I said.

“Andy,” Amelia said, coming to pat my shoulder, “You must let this go. It's over. You are all right. George is all right. It has been a difficult day. You will forget all about it in the morning.”

In that moment, for the first time, I wondered if perhaps I didn't imagine the old woman, if it had been a violent nightmare, brought on by the blow to my head or the dreadful cold menace I'd felt in the Black Chamber. And there had been the slamming door in my face, Amelia trapped, calling out to me.

I no longer knew. I felt a huge wave of sheer
exhaustion wash through me. I had nothing else to say. I turned away from all of them and walked back to The Blue Room, George trotting just behind me.

I heard Thomas say, “This was only her first day here. I dread to see what will happen on her second.”

I dreaded it more than he did.

I shut my bedchamber door, paused just a moment, then turned the key in the lock. If the old woman came back, then she was either a violent aftershock from my mind or she was a spirit. Either way, I knew it would not be a very good thing.

I surprised myself. I fell asleep almost instantly. However, George managed to beat me. I closed my eyes with the sound of his snoring in my ears.

In the morning, my first thought was no, I did not imagine anything. If I had to do it myself, I would search every inch of Devbridge Manor. I would find a clue to that miserable old woman who had frightened me witless.

When I saw how everyone was looking at me the following morning when I came down to the breakfast room, I decided to change my tactics. I gave everyone a big smile and said, all modest humility, “You have all been so very kind. Goodness, you even treated me well in the middle of the night when my imagination went berserk and I conjured up a vision to terrify myself. I apologize to all of you. It is forgotten. Thank you for being so very kind. I should love some scrambled eggs.”

I picked up my plate and went to the sideboard. I fetched George three slices of very crispy bacon and one small kipper. It was no surprise that conversation was on the stiff side. However, I just continued to beam good humor, smiles, and speak of nothing
more weighty than the lovely weather, so unusual for November, and it did not take long for everyone to breathe metaphorical sighs of relief and resume their normal thoughts and actions.

Toward the middle of the morning, I changed into my riding clothes and walked to the stables, George trotting beside me. It was overcast now, a bit on the chilly side, the lovely weather only a memory. But Brantley had assured me that it would not rain until late afternoon.

Since I was convinced that he was Moses, I believed him implicitly.

Rucker saddled Small Bess for me and gave me a hand up. I petted Small Bess's glossy bay neck. “You are lovely, you know that?” George was barking, and so I asked Rucker to hand him up to me. “He can run later. Right now, he can ride.”

I did give Tempest one wistful look before I lightly tapped my heels into Small Bess's sides. I called back to Rucker, who was standing there, watching me, “If anyone wonders where I am, just tell them that I'm going to the village to meet our merchants.”

I didn't ride to the village. George, Small Bess, and I went to the narrow stream that ribboned east to west on Devbridge land. I left Small Bess free to eat whatever grass pleased her. I carried George to the edge of the stream and sat down beneath a billowing willow tree. George sat beside me, tall and straight.

“George,” I said. “I could have imagined that hideous old woman. I don't think I did, but we have to consider it a possibility.”

George turned to look at me. He cocked his head to one side.

“On the other hand, there is simply no way you
would have imagined her as well. I saw you looking at her, barking your head off. You were as scared as I was, but you were ready to leap for her throat, weren't you, my brave lad?”

He gave me a light wuff.

I began to pet George's head, and he stood there, staring out over the stream, trembling slightly because he loved me to pet him, to scratch here and there, in places he had trouble reaching.

“Wouldn't you say that it was also rather impossible for a violent spirit to return the knife so very carefully to John's collection that just so happens to be in his bedchamber?”

George wuffed again, probably at the sound of John's name.

“But you know, George, we are considering two very different things that are happening here. There was something awful in that wretched Black Chamber, and it scares me to my toes because I can't imagine what it is. But that old woman—she was very human. Even if I lost my wits and dreamed her up, you couldn't have. No, she was real, she exists, she is here.

“And then there is what happened to Amelia in that other room. Well, you and I will look into that when we go back to the Manor, although I am not all that certain I wish to go back there. Someone either tried to kill me or scare me into leaving. I am to pay for all of it. What does that mean? And who said it and why, George?”

George remained silent.

I picked him up and held him tightly against me. He allowed it for a few seconds, then pulled free and
ran to chase a pheasant that had just burst from a thicket of brush.

I eventually collected George and remounted Small Bess. I did not ride to the small village of Devbridge-on-Ashton. It frankly seemed a silly thing to do when someone had come at me with a Moorish dagger in the middle of the night. I returned to Devbridge Manor. I now knew what I was going to do.

I stood in the middle of the empty room Amelia had entered the previous day. There were two long, narrow windows, no draperies to soften them, that gave onto the front of the house. If you looked off to the right, you could see the stables, the left, the home wood.

The room, which had a nicely polished wooden floor, was completely empty. I went into each and every chamber around it. They were either bedchambers, charmingly furnished, or they were small sitting rooms, likewise nicely furnished.

Only the small room Amelia had entered was stark and empty. I felt nothing as I stood there, nothing at all. But there had been something there the day before, something that had slammed the door in my face. Yet it wasn't the solid, very real, old woman who'd come at me with John's Moorish ceremonial knife the night before.

I had brought George with me. He sniffed about, but he didn't feel any more in that small room than I did. No hair stood up on either of our necks.

I returned to The Blue Room with George, shut and locked the door. This had been Caroline's room. She had climbed out through one of the large windows in this room and made her way along the ledge until she could get back inside the Manor. Then she
had walked to the north tower and thrown herself off.

The old woman of last night—could she not have also climbed out those windows and walked along the ledge until she could climb back into the house, into another room?

Thomas had told about the woman he had seen here very briefly when he'd been younger. Had it been Caroline's ghost? Why would she come back here? Why would she want to come back here, to this particular room? Was Caroline the reason the servants believed this chamber was haunted? Or was Caroline in that other room, the small one that was very empty?

I searched out Mrs. Redbreast, the Lyndhurst housekeeper for certainly more years than I'd been on this earth. I found her in her charming suite of rooms in the east wing. If she was surprised or discomfited in any way to see me, she didn't let on. She invited me into her lovely sitting room, furnished with very old pieces from two centuries ago. A softly warm fire glowed in the fireplace. All the draperies were drawn against the deepening autumn chill. It looked like it would begin raining any minute, but when I mentioned it, Mrs. Redbreast shook her head, smiled, and said, no, Brantley said not before three o'clock in the afternoon.

“My lady, a cup of tea?”

I accepted. I complimented her on the delicious India tea, told her in all seriousness that I was counting on her to guide me, since Devbridge Manor was such a very large house. When it was necessary, I could lie better than one of those damned weasel-tongued Whigs, as Grandfather had told me more
than once. In truth, I had managed Grandfather's various houses since I had turned fifteen, including Deerfield Hall, larger than Devbridge Manor by a good dozen bedchambers and a ballroom the size of a London block. I had made a hash of many things in those early years. However, by the time I was eighteen, I was as at ease discussing the mending of an old washtub with copper bands with a butler and the blacksmith as I was deciding upon baking a buttock of beef in the French fashion with the cook.