Old Lover's Ghost (7 page)

“It is possible, but unlikely,” Merton said. “The vicar was born somewhere near Keefer Hall. The St. Johns were an aging couple, childless. They raised him as a son and a gentleman. He attended university and so on, but unfortunately had no money left to him.”

Charity listened, trying to piece together the relationship. “As he lived nearby, is it possible he would know what is bothering your mama, Lord Merton? Perhaps that is why she chose him for her confidant.”

“How could he know? He is not much older than myself.”

“Surely he is much older than you!”

“No, he is younger than he looks. It is his shuffling manner that ages his appearance.”

“He will certainly outlive Mama,” Lewis said. “And if he goes on with these insinuating visits, he will diddle me out of a couple of thousand at least. Well, I am off. What was it I was supposed to do again, John? Oh, yes, the demmed wool. And keep an eye on Mama, too.”

He left. Charity judged by his insouciant whistle that he was not too concerned about losing his fortune to St. John.

“Shall we have a look at the secret panels now?” Merton said, and put his hand on Charity’s elbow to lead her off.

Chapter Six

“Will we not require lamps?” Charity said.

“There speaks the voice of experience,” Merton replied. “I see our priest’s hole and secret panel will be no thrill for you, Miss Wainwright. I have not been down the stairs for years myself.”

“There are stairs! That will be something new at least. Where do they lead?” She watched as Merton’s long, graceful fingers fiddled with the flint and wick. A carved emerald ring gleamed on his left hand as he took up a lamp.

“That would spoil the surprise,” he replied. “I fear I am giving you undue expectations. It is really a very dull staircase.”

“How spoiled you are. A secret staircase, and you not only ignore it for years, you actually call it dull!”

“You are thinking of Pope, the poet, I wager. About to bethump me with the old cliché that all things look yellow to the jaundiced eye.”

“You put words in my mouth, milord. What I was about to say was that if I had such a thing at home, I would run up and down it ten times a day.”

“When I was a child, I behaved as a child,” he said with a grin. “Now that I am a man, I have put away childish behavior. There is an insult for you in there if you look hard enough.”

Charity was surprised to discover that Merton was more conversable than she had thought. She decided a little gentle teasing might do him good. “An enjoyment of harmless pleasures should not die with childhood. We all require diversion from time to time.”

“Running an estate of this size leaves but little time for diversion. In my free moments I can usually find something more amusing than running up and down a staircase.”

“If you would rather be doing something else, I can go alone.”

“Good lord, that was not my meaning! I shall be seeing it with an attractive young lady. In such company the activity is secondary. That is a compliment, ma’am, to make up for my former insult.” He noticed, however, that neither insult nor compliment had much effect on her. “Quite an occasion in my Spartan existence,” he added.

“Odd that men speak of Spartans as if they were the height of manhood, yet it was the more urbane, pleasure-loving Athenians who overcame Sparta in the end. A Spartan life leaves no room for the imagination.”

Merton lifted the lamp and headed for the morning parlor and the priest’s hole. “I see you are adept at debate,” he replied with a smile. “An unusual talent in a young lady. I wonder what can account for it.”

She frowned. “Papa’s society has lively debates. I wonder what manner of young lady you have been associating with, if they cannot hold up their end of a discussion.”

“Perhaps they can, but they don’t, when they are with an eligible parti.”

Charity felt her experience in the field of flirtation was lacking. Her mama had died when she was young; she had never made her debut or had a really close female friend with whom she could discuss the important matter of nabbing a husband. Was she doing something wrong? Was that why her young gentlemen never came up to scratch? She said, “How do they behave?”

“They agree. They simper. They praise. They ask sly questions. You missed an excellent opportunity to discover the extent of my estate just now.”

“I already know it. I looked you up in the Peerage before leaving London.”

A choking sound came from Merton’s throat. It increased in volume until it was a full-blown laugh. “I see. Very sensible.”

“Then why are you laughing at me?” she asked sharply.

“There is nothing so amusing as the truth. I was not laughing at you, but at the foolish hypocrisy that exists between the sexes.”

“I know perfectly well you were laughing at me, but let us not spoil this delightful diversion by arguing.”

“I see you will be easy to entertain, Miss Wainwright. You must consider the moldy cellars and dusty attics at your disposal, to enjoy yourself to the top of your bent.”

“Oh, not cellars! There might be rats there.”

“I daresay there are bats in the secret passage.”

Charity felt a frisson down her spine. “You are trying to frighten me! I do not mind spiders. One can always step on them, but bats! Ugh!”

“Here we are,” he said, setting down his lamp and pulling back an edge of carpet in the corner of the morning parlor. “The priest’s hole. In the old days it had a cabinet over it, to hide the trapdoor. The cabinet moved aside to let the guilty party slip into the hole. The cabinet was then replaced until whoever was looking for him left. An excellent place for a ghost! All it would require is for someone to forget to remove the cabinet and the poor soul would be there until he died.”

He slid his fingers into the hollowed-out groove and lifted the door. There was a little cube not more than five feet all around, with a bench built into the side of it. Unless he was shorter than five feet, the person who was hiding had to sit down.

Charity looked in at a dusty floor with a tin soldier in one corner. “Lord Winton has been here,” she said. “This is a very inferior priest’s hole, milord. At Radley Hall they had spiders and black beetles, to say nothing of cobwebs.”

Merton frowned at a little pile of what looked like sawdust on the floor. “If you look very hard, you might find termites,” he said. “Demme, I must have this sprayed with chlorine to kill the beetles. Shall we move along to the pièce de résistance?”

“Yes, please.”

Merton lowered the door, replaced the carpet, then he took up his lamp and they returned to the Blue Saloon. “Why did we not begin here, as we were in this room?” Charity asked.

“Foolish question. One does not begin with the pièce de résistance. It is always kept for the last. We Spartans eat the cake before the icing—but we do get around to the choice bits eventually.” His eyes moved slowly over her face as he spoke, lingering on her lips.

“I wish you would not stare at me like that! It makes me feel as if I were the cake.”

“No, the icing,” he murmured provocatively.

A blush rose up from her collar. “You are wondering whether propriety demands a setdown. It don’t,” he said.

“You are behaving most improperly, Lord Merton,” she said primly.

“No, no. Not most improperly. That will come later, after we have enjoyed the cake.”

After this leading speech, he went directly to a far corner, clothed in shadows, and began examining a cupboard built into the wall. He opened the lower doors of the cupboard, knelt down, and removed some dusty bowls and books. “You have to get on your hands and knees to get in,” he explained. Charity frowned at her gown. “No doubt things were better organized at Radley Hall,” Merton said. He began poking around the now empty cavity of the cupboard. “How the devil does this thing work?” he asked, presumably of himself.

“You mean you don’t know? Upon my word, you treat your architectural treasures in a very cavalier manner.”

“I come from a long line of Cavaliers,” he replied.

Charity gave him a blighting stare for this poor pun. “There is a drawer above the bottom doors. Would the drawer be the key to getting into the passage?”

“Yank it out,” he said.

When she pulled out the drawer, Merton hollered. “Wait until I get my fingers out!”

“You told me to open it!”

She removed the drawer while Merton massaged his crushed fingers. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “The passage has opened. It slides open as the drawer is pulled out. I remember now.”

“I do not see how you could have forgotten,” she said, crouching down to examine the open passage. “I shall ruin my gown. Look at the dust!”

“What, no dust at Radley Hall?” He was already crawling through the opening, into a small chamber with stairs leading up. When Charity handed him the lamp, he looked around. “It is as well you are not frightened of spiders” was all he said.

Charity climbed through the opening. “Where does this lead?” she asked, looking at the staircase.

“To the attic.”

“That is all? Just to the attic? I thought it would lead to a bedchamber. The old lords frequently had such a contraption to allow them to visit ladies—ladies other than their wives, I mean,” she added.

Merton grinned. “We Dechastelaines do not go in for that sort of thing.”

She peered at him askance. “Lewis mentioned a cousin Algernon ...”

“Cousin Algernon was the exception that proves the rule. Actually, the family has quite a few exceptions that prove the rule. Like French grammar, in fact. More exceptions than rules.”

“It certainly sounds very French.”

They began climbing up the stairs, Merton leading the way with his lamp held high.

“I cannot believe there is not a secret door into one of the bedchambers,” Charity said, stopping at the first landing to examine the walls. She could find no suspicious woodwork, however. The walls appeared to be solid enough.

“This leads only to the attic, and an unfinished part of the attic at that. There are no floors, just the cross members, with the ceiling of the bedroom below, made of lathe and plaster. Not strong enough to take a person’s weight, as I discovered in my youth.”

“What is the point of such a secret passage?” she asked.

“I’ve no idea. Perhaps the passage was never completed, or perhaps it was only used for concealing treasure. I understand the silverplate and some paintings and gold were concealed here during Cromwell’s rampage. That makes the passage worthwhile, does it not?”

“In a purely rational way I daresay it does—that would be reason enough for you. There is not much food here for the emotions. No frisson scuttles up the spine, no hair stands on end.”

Merton noticed a movement out of the corner of his eye. He said, “If you really want your hair standing on end, I think I can provide that as well. There is—”

Charity saw where he was looking and glanced up to see three small bats hanging from the rafters. A shriek split the air. “Bats!” she exclaimed, and threw her hand over her head to protect her hair. Her shout roused one of them from its sleep. It spread its wings slowly. As she shrieked and tried to hide behind Merton, he swept her protectively to his chest and began looking around for a shelf to hold the lamp, so he could put this interlude to full use. Charity clutched at his waist, burrowing her head into his shoulder.

“Quiet!” he cautioned. “They were asleep. It is your shouting that is waking them. Demme, one of them is coming toward us,” he lied, chewing back a grin.

“Stop him! Oh, but don’t kill him! Let us go!”

She looked up and saw the laughter in his eyes. She looked up at the dark corner and discerned the three inert forms. In the close shadows of the little landing, she was suddenly very aware that she was still clutching at Merton’s waist. Strangely, she forgot all about the bats. His face was close to hers. His free arm encircled her protectively, while the lamp in his other hand cast flickering shadows around them. She felt his breath fan her cheek. They stood for a moment, each very conscious of the other’s proximity. When Merton’s arm began to tighten around her, Charity became aware of the impropriety of her situation and dropped her arms. “They seem to have settled down,” she said.

“Pity. You rob me of the heroic role of bat slayer. Shall we have a nice argument about the unnecessary killing of bats, or would you rather go on up to the attic?”

Charity cleared her throat uneasily. “I really should see if Papa needs me.”

“I shall never understand you, Miss Wainwright,” Merton said, shaking his head. “How can you take ghosts in your stride and be frightened of a little bat?”

“You are talking about two completely different things. You ignore the very possibility of ghosts, when hundreds of people say they have seen them. You have no imagination. Perhaps I have too much. I could almost imagine that bat was clawing into my hair.”

“That is superstition. Bats do not nest in ladies’ hair.”

“Of course they do. Everyone knows that.”

“I do not know it. I know! I am not everyone,” he added hastily.

“I was going to say they are nasty, dirty things, whether they nest in one’s hair or not,” she said, and ran quickly down the staircase, where she scrambled out of the cupboard as fast as her legs could carry her.

While Merton returned the dusty bowls and books, Charity complained of her gown. “I knew I would get my gown dusty.”

“The servants will clean it for you.”

She went up to her room at once. While she changed her gown, she discovered she had to reassess Lord Merton. He was not entirely given over to work by any means. In fact, he was nothing short of a delightful flirt. But what were his intentions?

This visit was turning out to be more interesting than she had anticipated. As no one was about when she came down, she went in search of her papa and was told by Bagot that he had gone to investigate the cloisters. She eventually found him at the rear of the house, strolling through a covered archway that surrounded a paved quadrangle. A series of ten graceful stone arches in the Norman style formed the outer wall.