Sandra Heath (4 page)

Childhood recollections swept headily over Henrietta as she quickly bent to retrieve the fallen glass, which somehow had not shattered. Visions of past ghosts hovered palely before her, wraiths she alone had witnessed. When she’d spoken of them, no one had believed her, and so she soon learned the wisdom of holding her tongue. Gradually she had seen them no more. Until now. She gave a smile that was meant to reassure Charlotte. “I—I’m quite all right, it was just an accident.”

“You don’t seem all right to me.” Charlotte called a footman. “Bring a towel quickly, Miss Courtenay’s drink has been spilled,” she instructed, and as he hurried away, she gave Henrietta a concerned look. “What happened?”

“If I tell you, you will probably think me quite mad.”

“I doubt it.”

Henrietta met her eyes. “Very well, Charlotte. I really did see a ghost. Three of them to be precise—a lady about my age, a gentleman some ten years older, and a King Charles spaniel. They were indistinct; indeed I could see right through them to the ferns behind, which is how I know they were ghosts.”

Charlotte gave an uneasy laugh. “Henrietta, if this is a jest...”

“I’m telling the truth, Charlotte. The spaniel ran that way along the wall about Russell’s height from the floor.” Henrietta pointed.

“Oh, Henrietta!” Charlotte laughed incredulously.

“It’s the truth. The dog went that way and the lady and gentleman passed right through the wall, out onto the terrace, I suppose. They called each other Jane and Kit, and were dressed in the clothes from the time of Queen Anne.” Henrietta toyed with her fan. “Charlotte, the lady looked so like me that it was like seeing myself in fancy dress! And—and the gentleman was the very image of...”

“Yes?” Charlotte prompted curiously.

“He was a perfect likeness of Marcus Fitzpaine.”

Charlotte’s face was a study, and then she laughed again. “I think you’ve sampled too much punch.”

“I’m far from being in my cups.”

“A little fresh air on the terrace is in order, I think. Ghosts indeed. Whatever next?”

The footman returned with the towel, and as Henrietta mopped the splashes of champagne on her skirt, Charlotte instructed him to bring two warm cloaks. He hurried away again, and she eyed Henrietta. “I must say, for someone who has just claimed to see ghosts, you do not seem all that rattled; indeed
I
am more rattled than you, and I didn’t see anything.”

“Perhaps it’s because as a child I saw so many phantoms of one sort or another.”

“You did?”

Henrietta nodded. “Yes, but I quickly discovered that if I said anything I could only expect censure, if not downright punishment, so I learned to keep quiet on the subject.” She folded the towel slowly. “I confess I thought it was simply a childhood thing, because until tonight I hadn’t seen anything since school.”

Her matter-of-fact attitude was bewildering to Charlotte, who suddenly realized there was a side of her oldest friend she had never dreamed existed. She gave an uncomfortable laugh and looked away. For Henrietta, it was a horridly familiar reaction, and she wished she’d had the presence of mind not to respond at all when she’d seen the wraiths. It was too late now, however, so the best she could do was brush the incident aside. “Oh, well, perhaps I
was
a little liberal with the punch, so maybe some fresh air is advisable,” she said lightly, although the terrace was precisely where she believed the apparitions to have gone.

That was indeed where the startled ghosts were now to be found. Lanterns cast a soft light over everything, and a fine layer of snow had settled, but for the moment only a few flakes drifted on the motionless air. It was incredibly cold, but they felt nothing as they recovered from the shock of having been seen. Jane glanced back at the wall through which they’d emerged. “That was quite dreadful. I thought we would always be invisible and able to do as we pleased without detection, but she saw and heard us quite clearly!”

“Well, since there
are
truly psychic people, I suppose it was always possible that one day something like this would happen.”

Jane glanced heavenward. “And since we haven’t been immediately returned to limbo until the next suitable winter, I can only presume we haven’t fallen foul of the rules,” she said.

“I should hope not. After all, it wasn’t our fault Henrietta saw us,” Kit replied.

Jane sighed. “This makes things very difficult if she is to be one of our lovers, but in the absence of anyone else—”

“It isn’t beyond our capabilities to keep out of sight,” Kit reminded her. “There is always a convenient wall or cupboard.”

“I suppose so.” Jane sighed. She became aware of the gentle splash of the waves at the foot of the cliffs. It was a sound that made her put a nervous hand to her throat. “Oh, I do hate the sea, for I cannot forget the Goodwins....”

“Beloved, we are on terra firma now,” Kit replied reassuringly.

“I know, but I just can’t help it.”

He kissed her forehead tenderly, and for a moment she pressed lovingly to him, but then drew back sharply as a bark carried from the open doorway into the cloisters. “Rowley!” she cried, expecting to see the spaniel bounding toward them, but he didn’t come. “Rowley?” she called. Another bark was the only response.

Kit put a gentle hand on her arm. “Wait here, and I’ll find him.”

He strode swiftly across the terrace, leaving no footprints in the thin carpet of snow. The cloisters enclosed a grassy quadrangle which was brightly illuminated by variegated lanterns, but in spite of the light, he couldn’t at first see Rowley anywhere. Then he espied the spaniel cowering in a nook of the vaulted ceiling. “Come down, you tiresome cur!” he ordered.

Rowley made no move. He’d come face-to-face with a cat, and nothing was going to make him come down. He remembered only too well that cats had sharp claws, and it didn’t occur to him that now he was a ghost he would be immune to such things.

Kit heard Henrietta and Charlotte approaching as they left the ball, and he looked urgently at the spaniel. “Rowley, if you don’t get down from there this instant, so help me I’ll use my sword, and I won’t be responsible for where I jab it!”

Seeing the grim determination in Kit’s eyes, the little dog leaped down and dashed out onto the terrace. Kit followed at the double, and as Jane scooped her pet into her arms, they all fled toward the flight of stone steps that led down to the open cliff top. They were out of sight as Henrietta and Charlotte emerged from the cloisters.

Charlotte immediately stopped when she realized it had been snowing. “Well,” she declared, “the local weather sages have all pronounced the temperature to be far too
low
for snow here by the sea, yet here it is!”

“Since we’re only wearing satin slippers, perhaps we should go back inside?” Henrietta suggested, glancing around for any sign of the ghosts.

“We’ll just go to the balustrade and then come back. Come along.” Charlotte caught her hand and hurried her out into the night.

Chapter Four

Away from the hothouse temperature of the ballroom, the cold was so intense that as Henrietta and Charlotte crossed the east-facing terrace, they both immediately raised their hoods and pulled their cloaks closer. The lanterned balustrade was right at the edge of the sheer cliff, and the lights of Mulborough shone about a quarter of a mile away to the south. Beyond the little town, which stood where the river Mull spilled into the sea from its steep tree-choked valley, there was another headland, upon which was built St. Tydfa’s church. No breeze stirred the air and the clouds obscured the moon. The only sounds were the idle wash of the waves far below and the music drifting faintly from the ballroom.

Charlotte shivered. “It isn’t often that everything is this quiet up here. In fact it was the very opposite one day early last month.”

“What do you mean?”

“A notorious French privateer called the
Légère
had the audacity to try to enter Mulborough harbor in broad daylight. All the able-bodied men had gone out with the fishing fleet, so can you imagine the consternation in the town when a black-masted vessel was seen approaching? Only the French paint their masts black, and of all the privateers, the
Légère
is the most feared. She carries so much spar and sail that to see her in full cry is to wonder she doesn’t take to the air. Her captain is rumored to be young and handsome, but he is also completely ruthless, and stories abound that he gives no quarter, even to women. Anyway, Russell had the presence of mind to order the firing of our poor little cannons.” Charlotte pointed along the terrace to the two cannons that had always stood there. “The
Légère
made off, and afterward it was learned that several local pilots had been approached and offered large bribes if they would divulge the new location of the channel.”

Peeping onto the terrace, the watching ghosts had heard every word. Mention of a French privateer renewed the echoes of their fate upon the Goodwins, and Jane shrank a little closer to Kit. He slipped a comforting arm around her, and for once Rowley did not snap at him.

“New location of the channel?” Henrietta repeated.

“Yes, it changed last autumn after a particularly savage storm. The
Légère
is a large, deep-drafted vessel, and even with exact knowledge could only negotiate the approach with a foot or so to spare. But there isn’t another landing place anywhere along this part of the coast, so she had no choice if she wanted to put men ashore.”

Kit’s hand crept to the hilt of his sword and his knuckles gleamed white with anger. “Damned Frenchies!” he said darkly, and Rowley growled, for all the world as if sharing the sentiment.

Henrietta was puzzled about the whole incident. “I can’t understand why this is the first I’ve heard of this.”

“We didn’t want to alarm our guests, so the servants were instructed not to mention it.”

Henrietta detected something odd about the whole business. “Charlotte, I’ve already confided in you tonight, so now it’s your turn. What is the real reason nothing has been said?”

“Well... Oh, I suppose it’s all right to tell you, but this isn’t really my secret; rather is it a national one, so you must promise not to breathe a single word to anyone else.”

Henrietta stared. “A
national
secret?” she repeated.

“Yes, and it has to do with Russell’s Treasury connections. It was deemed wise to split the nation’s gold into small lots and take it to various hiding places throughout the land, so it couldn’t all fall into enemy hands at once. Some of it is here at Mulborough.”

Henrietta’s eyes widened. “Actually in the abbey?” Her interest was now so thoroughly aroused that she forgot the cold.

“No, in the old icehouse in the woods.”

Henrietta blinked. “But it’s in an advanced state of dilapidation!”

“That’s why Russell thought it perfect. All seemed well, and we were confident the gold’s presence was unknown to anyone, but whispers seem to be circulating. Amabel overheard something in the town and asked Russell about it, but he said it was just rumor. Now we have face the possibility that the
Légère
has wind of it. What other reason could there be for her to take such a risk?”

“Perhaps it would be prudent to move the gold away from Mulborough,” Henrietta suggested.

“Russell has already sent word to London to that effect. We’re still awaiting a reply. Oh, Henrietta, I wish it was all over and done with, because something else occurred on Christmas Eve.”

“What happened?” Henrietta was mystified, for she’d slept very well that night, and knew nothing.

“It was a very cloudy night, if you remember, and at two in the morning Dr. Hartley was returning from a call at a farm just inland on the moor. He came right past the abbey and saw a signal from a vessel out in the bay. There was an answering signal from St. Tydfa’s. It couldn’t have been smugglers, because there aren’t any at Mulborough now, and anyway he knows enough to realize the signals weren’t from local vessels. He felt certain it was to do with the
Légère,
although by the time he reached the town to raise the alarm, the signals had stopped.”

Henrietta was dismayed. “Are you saying someone in Mulborough is helping the
Légère?”

“It seems so.”

“One of the pilots?”

“They can all account for themselves. We have no idea who it was.” Charlotte managed a smile. “Maybe it was the Mulborough bogle,” she added lightly.

The eavesdropping ghosts exchanged glances. Bogles were Old Nick’s creatures—nasty red-faced goblins whose sole purpose was to cause trouble. They were only about twelve inches high and possessed sharp teeth they delighted in using at every opportunity.

Henrietta gave a startled laugh. “The Mulborough
bogle?
What on earth is that?”

“Supposedly they are wicked imps or goblins who torment mankind, and Mulborough churchyard apparently boasts one. They are said to be particularly active on Christmas Eve, which is why no one from the town would go up to investigate. You see, the doctor wasn’t alone in observing the lights, but superstition had the upper hand, and everyone stayed indoors.”

Henrietta smiled “I fancy an only too flesh-and-blood hand was sending those signals.”

“Russell and I think the same. Distasteful as it is, we concede that someone in the neighborhood is either a French sympathizer or is simply prepared to help in return for payment.” Charlotte sighed. “It’s all so frustrating, because Uncle Joseph almost captured the
Légère
when he was in the Caribbean two years ago. Would that he had succeeded! I received a letter just before Christmas. He’s in the Mediterranean now, in command of a ship of the line.” Charlotte’s voice glowed with pride, for Rear Admiral Sir Joseph Harman was a brilliant naval officer.

Suddenly Henrietta heard a faint rhythmic clunking, splashing sound from somewhere out on the water. For a moment she couldn’t think what it was, but then Charlotte heard too. “Do I hear oars?” she gasped.

The two women glanced uneasily at each other, and then looked out at the bay again. Gradually they perceived a dark shape about a hundred yards off the harbor mouth. A two-masted sloop was being hauled in by two gigs, one behind the other, each crewed by about half a dozen men.