The Phantom Lover (12 page)

But there was no answer, and no light glowed from behind the curtain.

“Harry? Harry! Come back! I promise to behave.” But the ghost had gone for the night.

The gale continued through the night, and the wind still raged the next morning when Mrs. Penloe brought Lord Thorne's breakfast to his room. She found him lounging on the window-seat, an open book forgotten on his lap, staring out the window at the rain lashing against the pane. But instead of the gloomy expression which she thought the inclement weather would bring to his face, she noted that a faint smile curled his lips and his eyes were bright and amused. “Don't see what there is about the rain to make 'ee smile so,” she remarked as she set his table.

“It isn't the rain, love,” he said, rousing himself from his reverie. “Only a bit of a memory.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Penloe asked, looking at him with interest. “Somethin' you mind from your chiel'ood?”

“No. More recent than that,” he explained as he hobbled over to the table.

Mrs. Penloe set the coffee pot at his elbow and uncovered the eggs. “I'm surprised at 'ee bein' so cheerful, what wi' the weather so nasty-like, and the ladies still hangin' about.”

He buttered a hot biscuit generously and smiled up at her. “I don't mind the ladies. They don't seem to pry or get in my way. As for the weather, well, what can one expect in Cornwall at this time of year? Sit down, Mrs. Penloe, and have a bite with me. You've brought enough food to feed six.”

“You
don't
mind the ladies?” Mrs. Penloe asked in surprise, sitting down at the table opposite him.

“No, not at all. Why should I?”

“Well, you're stuck in this room so much, for one thing. I was sure you'd get housey.”

“No, I don't mind. I have my books. And you, Will and Jemmy pop in often enough to cheer me. So long as our visitors don't come poking about where they're not wanted, I don't mind having them here.”

Mrs. Penloe propped her chin on her hand and fixed her eyes on his face. “But what if they
should
come pokin' about?”

“I don't see why they should, if they haven't so far,” he said carelessly, lifting a forkful of egg. But suddenly his hand stayed. “Why?” he asked, his complacent expression gone. “Do you think they will?”

She shrugged. “'Tis the only thing that keeps me afeared. Do 'ee still pay the girl ghost-visits?”

He looked at her guiltily and nodded.

“Don't seem to frighten her, do they?”

“No,” he admitted.

She reached for a biscuit and said with elaborate casualness, “Then I don't see why you bother.”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I enjoy the game. Do you think I should stop?”

“'Tis not for me to say.”

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. “Tush, woman, I've never known you to hold your tongue when you've something on your mind.”

“You reckon I've somethin' on my mind?”

“Yes, I do. You've been sitting there tearing that biscuit to shreds without eating a crumb. So speak up, love. Tell me what's troubling you.”

“'Tis you an' the young woman what's troublin' me. Seems to me you're
both
enjoyin' these ghost-visits. That's why she's not pokin' about—she has no wish to upset the applecart.”

“Yes, I suppose that's true. Go on.”

She lifted her head and looked at him levelly. “It seems to be you've a real likin' for one another. Then why not face her in the open? Cain't you be abroad wi' her?”

Harry stared at her for a long moment. Then he put down his fork, rose and limped to the window. “No,” he said at last, “I can't be ‘abroad' with anyone. Nothing has changed. Nothing
can
change.”

“I been watchin' the young lady for more'n a fortnight,” Mrs. Penloe said gently, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his arm. “She ben't a giglot. A good, strong girl she be. 'Twould not matter to her that you've only one leg.”

Harry turned and looked down at the little housekeeper, a mockery of a smile on his face. “Are you trying to be a matchmaker, my dear?” he asked with forced humor. “There's no use, you know. I'm determined to remain a bachelor.” He turned back to the window. “And don't trouble yourself about my ghost-visits,” he added softly. “I'll do what I can to end the game we've been playing. She'll find herself bored to distraction soon enough and will take herself off to London.”

Mrs. Penloe's heart sank. Not only had she failed to change his mind about facing the outside world, but she'd spoiled his happy mood. “Oh, Master Harry,” she asked miserably, “be 'ee nipped wi' me?”

Harry, with a great effort of will, pulled himself out of the doldrums and turned to her with a smile. “Of course not, love,” he said, lifting her chin and bending to kiss her cheek. “Nothing you'd ever say could vex me. Come, give us a smile and put this business out of your mind.”

She tried to comply, but the heaviness of her heart could not be pushed away. The hopeful feeling she had nurtured during the past fortnight was gone, and a depression such as she'd not felt since the ladies had arrived settled on her spirit like a black cloud.

The ghost did not make an appearance for the next two nights. By the third night, Nell was in such a state of nervous anxiety that she trembled at every sound. Even Amelia noticed her agitation and made a comment at the dinner table. Nell excused herself shortly after nine o'clock and ran upstairs. What could have happened? she asked herself over and over. Was Harry angry with her because of the rather tasteless teasing she had indulged in when she'd pretended to undress? Gwinnys tapped on the door, but Nell dismissed her for the night. She undressed quickly, put on a very proper, starched white nightdress and her prettiest lace-trimmed cap, and climbed into bed. It was only a little past ten. She plumped the pillows and sat back against them primly, waiting with a beating heart for the light to appear.

Midnight came and went. When the hall clock struck one, and the ghost had still not made an appearance, Nell turned her face into the pillows and wept. But suddenly she heard the thumping footsteps that always heralded his appearance, and she sat up abruptly, the tears still wet on her cheeks. “Oh,
there
you are!” she exclaimed in tremulous relief. “Wherever have you
b-been
?”

“Good Lord!” the ghost blurted out incredulously, “have you been crying?”

“Of c-course I've been c-crying. I … I've been worried about you.”

“Worried? About
me
? Don't be daft, girl. No one worries about a ghost.”

“I do. I was afraid something dreadful had happened to you.”

Harry laughed. “But, my dear,
nothing
can happen to a phantom. We merely go on and on through the centuries, untouched, unharmed, unchanged—”

“Then why didn't you come?” she demanded petulantly. “Did you wish to punish me?”

Harry was startled. “Punish you? Why would I wish to punish you?”

“You know very well why!” She looked down at the bedclothes embarrassedly. “Although I didn't dream you could be such a … a prig.”

“Prig?” asked Harry completely puzzled. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You are equivocating, sir. Surely you are fully aware of the incident to which I refer. And only a prig could have believed that I would
really
undress in front of a man—ghost or no ghost.”

“Oh,
that
!” Harry said with a laugh. “You surely don't believe I stayed away for such a ridiculous reason as that. Good God, girl, you looked so charming that night, it was all I could do to force myself to leave!”

“Oh,” said Nell in a small voice, blushing hotly.

“I suppose I
did
sound like a prig,” Harry admitted ruefully. “I was merely trying to prove to you that, sometimes, I can behave like a gentleman.”

“Perhaps you can,” Nell admitted, “but I'm not at all certain it was gentlemanly to stay away for two nights when you knew I was expecting you. Why
did
you—?”

“I was busy. I had some thinking to do.”

“Thinking? About what?”

“Well, to be quite honest, about
you
, my dear.”

She looked up at him with interest. “Why were you thinking about me?”

“I was trying to find a new scheme to use to frighten you off.”

Nell's face fell. “To … frighten me? I don't understand—”

“I have my reputation to think of,” he explained. “My ghostly reputation. The word is spreading among my … er … ghostly confreres that I have not succeeded in dislodging you, even after all this time. I think, therefore, that the time has come for me to buckle down seriously to work.”

“But … but I thought you'd given up trying to frighten me off. I've told you from the first that I don't intend to be driven from this house. I thought you'd accepted that fact.”

“No, my dear, I've not accepted it. Not as a fact or even as a possibility.”

“You
must
have!” she insisted. “You haven't even
tried
to frighten me since your second visit. I was convinced … I felt sure that …” She faltered.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, you see, we've been getting on so well, laughing and joking together … that I thought we'd come to … an understanding …”

“Only a temporary truce, I'm afraid,” Harry said gently.

The words sent a chill through her. Something was happening that threatened to change everything, and she was not yet ready for a change. “Do you …
w-wish
to be rid of me?” she asked, vulnerable as a child.

There was a momentary silence. Then the ghost said quietly, “It is my
job
to be rid of you. That is what ghosts are meant to do, is it not?”

She stared at him, biting her underlip to keep it from quivering. She had been rejected! And not by a ghost—by an ordinary man! A
worse
than ordinary man. He was a vulgar, dishonest, thieving trespasser! And yet the pain she now felt was stronger than anything she'd felt before. Three broken betrothals and any number of flirtations with gentlemen of quality had not prepared her for feelings like this.

But Nell had pride and spirit. She'd rather have died than let him see how he'd hurt her. She lifted her head and sat up, erect and cold. “You can stop spouting rubbish about ghosts, Mr. D'Espry. Do you take me for a fool? I told you a fortnight ago, and I tell you now—I am here, and here I shall remain!”

Harry sighed. “I suspected you'd say that.”

“Well, then—?” she challenged.

“Then it seems the truce is over, and the battle lines are drawn. Sorry, girl.”

“No need to be sorry for
me
, sir! I can take care of myself very well—especially against a mere ghost.”

The ghost rubbed his chin regretfully. “Well, then, I suppose there's nothing more to say. Goodnight, my dear.”

Nell didn't care to watch him fade away. She blew out her candle, flounced down into the bed and turned her back on him.

“Won't you even bid me goodnight?” the ghost asked, hopefully. “Just once more, while the truce is still in effect?”

“You can go to the d-devil!” she threw at him over her shoulder.

“Not only was that
unkind,
” the ghost said reprovingly, “but quite unladylike.”

“
Unladylike
!” she cried, sitting up and staring at his fading form. “I can't afford to be ladylike. This is
war
!”

Chapter Eight

N
ELL'S FIRST ACT
to mark the opening of hostilities was to indulge in a bout of hearty tears. After her good, long cry she lay awake until the dawn, trying to guess what new strategies her ghost might devise to drive her away, and to concoct defenses against them. For it was plain that Harry had the advantageous position of offense. He could attack at will;
she
would have to engage in a defensive war.

But her thoughts were muddled, her logical thinking processes confused by the emotions which interfered with her usual rationality. An irrelevant question kept inserting itself into her mind:
why had Harry suddenly changed
?

By morning, no satisfactory answer had presented itself. Noticing that the rain had stopped at last, she dressed quickly and slipped out of the house. She walked briskly down the back slope and along the edge of the cliffs. The sky was gray, and the wind whipped at her hair and skirts in a most satisfactorily violent way. The sea below her roared in angry ferocity against the rocks in a manner completely appropriate to her mood. She found a rocky ledge, somewhat sheltered from the wind, and sat down, her eyes fixed on the waves thundering against the rocks far below. They crashed with such vehemence that she could feel the bite of spray on her face. The turbulent beauty of the scene fascinated her, and, surprisingly, that very turbulence had a soothing effect on her spirits. With her eyes fixed on the churning sea below, her mind calmly reviewed her strange situation. Why had Harry, the so-called ghost, so disturbed her? What had given him the power to hurt her so? She had no idea who he was. She had never even
seen
him clearly. They had, of course, spoken together often, and the conversations had been amusing and entertaining, but not of such depth and seriousness as to account for what she now suffered at his withdrawal. She was behaving as if … the thought caused her to gasp! … as if she'd been rejected by a
lover!

Had she become
attached
to her ghost? The question, now that she had actually faced it, was profoundly disturbing. She really knew nothing about him—not even what he looked like. It was only his voice she knew. But the voice had spoken words, and the words had revealed thoughts and feelings. If she were to be completely honest, there was a great deal about Harry that she knew. He was clever, yet kind. He was amusing, yet gentle. He had warmth and strength. She was as sure of these things as if she'd known him all her life.