The Phantom Lover (13 page)

But oh, there was a great deal she didn't know. Who was he? Why was he hiding at Thorndene? Had he a family?
Good Lord
, had he a
wife
? Why, the man could be anything—a thief, a smuggler, a … a
murderer
, for all she knew! Yet he had handled his visits to her bedroom with great tact and delicacy—he'd never done anything to cause her the least discomfort or embarrassment. In short (and despite what she'd said to him in her teasing fashion), he was a gentleman.

All these thoughts, however, were quite beside the point, she reminded herself. He had declared himself her enemy. He wished to drive her from Thorndene. He, who was a trespasser and an imposter, had declared that
she
, who had the right and authority to be here, must go! She could not, if she had a grain of sense, permit him to take such advantage of her. She should set about discovering his identity, his whereabouts in the house, and the reason for his ghostly deception. Or, if she were
truly
sensible, she should turn the entire matter over to the authorities at Padstow.

It didn't take much thought to dispense with
that
idea. Such action would surely be too precipitate. She didn't want the man imprisoned—at least not yet. She wanted to be fair. She had no certain knowledge that he was a criminal. She could always go to the magistrates as a last resort. In the meantime, she could plan a counter-strategy …

Nell was a girl with many inner resources. She had a lively and imaginative mind, and a number of schemes suggested themselves to her. She analyzed them one by one, discarding some as implausible, smiling at others that were too ridiculous for serious consideration, and thinking of ways to implement the good ones. Absorbed in these plans, she didn't hear the sound of hoofs until the horse was quite close. The sound made her jump up in panic. The dark powerful horse was galloping along the cliffs and coming toward her at an alarming speed. It was Caceres.

Before she could see the rider clearly, he saw her. He reined in the horse so suddenly that the beast reared and neighed terrifyingly. For a moment, Nell was certain that both she and the rider would be trampled beneath the hoofs of the enormous, rearing animal. But before the scream which had begun to form in her throat could be released, the rider had brought the horse under control, turned him round and was riding back the way he'd come. Nell stared in sudden recognition at the back of the tall, dark-haired rider rapidly disappearing from her sight. She leaned back against a rock to recapture her breath. Then she laughed. “You don't fool me, Harry!” she shouted into the wind. “I'd know you anywhere!”

Her first plan was to place two large candelabrum behind the white curtain, hoping that the bright light would reveal both the man and the mechanism by which he made his ghost-figure fade in and out. But Harry did not appear while the light remained, and she eventually gave up the plan.

Her next scheme was to spread a coating of a greasy substance on the floor in the window embrasure. In that way, Harry would leave visible footprints on the floor, and she could confront him with the evidence of his physical existence. The problem was that she didn't have a greasy substance to use. After giving the matter much thought, she went to Amelia. Claiming to be looking hagged (which was not difficult, since Amelia had been remarking on that very fact several times during the last few days), she asked to borrow a lotion for her complexion. “But of course, dear,” Amelia said, eager to share her knowledge of cosmetics with Nell. “I have several. Which would you like? I have Denmark lotion, of course. And an ointment Mr. Keypstick made for me—an elixir of apples and asses' milk. Then there is a lotion of my own concoction, made of white flowers, cucumber water, lemon juice and minced pigeon meat—”

Nell shuddered. “Minced
pigeon
meat?”

“Oh, yes, dear. They say that pigeon flesh is as beneficial to the skin as crushed strawberries, you know—”

“Never mind,” Nell interrupted. “Give me the thickest lotion of the lot, if you will.”

Amelia blinked at her in surprise. “The thickest? What a strange request.”

The Denmark lotion proved to be the best, and Nell spread a coat of it carefully on the floor before the window. Then, to ease her conscience at having deceived her dear Amelia, she spread some on her face as well. Promptly at midnight, the sound of Harry's approach reached her ears. She sat up with an eager smile, but Harry did not materialize. Instead, she was subjected to a series of groans, squeaks, grunts and cries which were obviously designed to frighten an innocent victim out of her wits. Nell put her hands to her ears and laughed. When at length the noise subsided, she demanded loudly, “Did you really think, you fool, that I would be frightened by that child's trick?”

Harry's voice was rueful. “No, I suppose not,” he admitted.

“Where are you?” she asked. “Why aren't you showing yourself?”

“No need for that. Since the noise didn't do the trick, I may as well go.”

“No, don't go just yet,” Nell urged, trying to ensure the success of her footprint trap. “Stay and talk for a moment.”

“Why?” he asked suspiciously. “Are you up to something?”

“Of course not. I'm sitting right here in bed, exactly as I always do.”

“I know that,” he said crossly. “I can see you. What
is
that on your face, by the way?”

“On my face?” she asked puzzled. “What—?” She put her fingers to her cheeks and felt the lotion. “Oh, that. It's only a lotion for my complexion,” she said in some embarrassment.

Harry let out a snort. “What nonsense,” he said disparagingly. “You women are such gullible fools.”

“What do
you
know of the matter, sir? I have it on good authority that this lotion gives excellent protection against age-spots and wrinkles.”

“Age spots and wrinkles, eh?” Harry asked, his grin apparent in his voice. “Well, then, I sincerely apologize. Obviously, the lotion is a necessity for such a wrinkled old hag as yourself.”

“Oh, take a damper!” Nell muttered in annoyance. “Not only are you behaving with irritating male superiority, but you're being cowardly as well.”

“Cowardly, ma'am? In what way?”

“Why are you afraid to show yourself?”

“Afraid? Not at all. Only suspicious. I know you're up to something. But rather than succumb to my suspicions, I'll prove my courage. There!” And the ghostly figure slowly appeared.

Nell was sure she'd heard a match being struck. But she did not bother to mention it. She merely smiled to herself. Surely she had his footprints now! “Thank you, Harry,” she said sweetly. “Now you may go.”

“Oh, I may, may I? Now that you've had your way with me? Very well, ma'am, I'll go. I take no pleasure in looking at your lotion-covered face with that irritating smile of
female
superiority. Goodnight, my dear.”

No sooner had he faded from view than she jumped out of bed, snatched her candle and ran to the window. Pulling aside the curtain, she examined the floor minutely. Not a mark disturbed the lotion-covered surface of the floor!

Nell was nonplussed. She spent the following day in brooding silence. She paid scant attention to Gwinnys's chatter or Lady Amelia's attempts to tease her “out of the sullens.” By the end of the day, she had determined to take the most drastic step of her entire anti-ghost strategy: a head-on confrontation! The next time he appeared, she would choose a moment when he was absorbed in conversation, dash out of bed and fling open the curtains before he'd had a chance to escape.

That night, sitting in bed as usual and awaiting the hour of twelve, she found that she was trembling. She knew her plan was weak and fraught with danger. In the first place, she had no idea what trick
he
had devised for tonight. She could not count on his appearing at all, or, if he
did
come, that he'd show himself in the usual way. In the second place, she was not at all sure that he couldn't make himself disappear even in the few seconds it would take for her to race across the floor to the curtain. Perhaps, if she took a stance somewhat closer …

Harry's thumping footsteps sounded just as the hall clock struck twelve. She was standing three steps from the curtain when the first faint flicker of light appeared. “Good evening,” came his voice. “I see that you're not in your bed.”

“And
you
are not showing yourself,” she accused.

“No. Nor do I intend to, while you stand so close.”

“Oh? Why not?”

He didn't deign to answer. “If you want me to stay, get back into bed,” he said coldly.

“If I do, will you show yourself?” she asked, hampered but not foiled.

There was a silence while he considered. She could almost read his mind. He knew she was up to something. “Oh, very well,” he agreed, succumbing either to the temptation of her companionship, to the challenge of her threatened trap, or to some purpose of his own.

She pattered back to bed, settled herself against the pillows and smiled innocently at him. “There, is that better?”

“Much better,” he said shortly, and slowly came into view.

She looked at him curiously. “You seem much the same as usual,” she said in some surprise. “Haven't you devised any new horror with which to attack me tonight?”

“No. I've decided to try to reason with you.”

“Don't waste your time. I can imagine no reason that a ghost could present that would logically convince me to surrender my bed and board—my
home
, in fact—to a mere spectre.”

“Nevertheless, I
do
have good and valid reasons—”

She shook her head. “I wish I understood you,” she said plaintively. “Why is it so important to be rid of me? Am I in your way? Do I disturb your life? What is it you want to do that I prevent you from doing?”

“I was thinking of
you
, not of me,” the ghost said, with convincing sincerity. “You cannot be happy here. You've been here for several weeks, during which time the weather has been abominable, there hasn't been a visitor from the outside world, you haven't a hope of a party or ball … This must be an impossibly dull place for you. Surely by this time you must be homesick for the liveliness and gaiety of London.”

“My happiness is none of your affair,” she said rigidly.

“Perhaps not. But it occurs to me that you may be forcing yourself to remain here in some stubborn desire to prove yourself stronger than I. It's nothing but foolishness, you know, to cut off your nose to spite your face.”

“You exaggerate your importance to me, Mr. D'Espry,” she said cuttingly.

There was a wistful sigh. “That's a facer,” Harry admitted with a touch of regret. “Nonetheless, you must realize that it cannot be healthy for a lovely young girl to bury herself away from all possibility of social encounters. You should be in London, in the midst of a whirl of activity, surrounded by beaux and—”

“How dare you, sir!” Nell hissed furiously. “The matter of my beaux is none of your affair! Who are you to speak to me so? I've never known a ruder, more encroaching, interfering, insulting thatchgallows, man
or
ghost, than you!”

“
Thatchgallows
?” Harry exclaimed, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his laughter. “What an epithet for a smug—”

But Nell had bounded out of bed as soon as the last word had left her tongue. She flew across the floor in four leaping steps and threw the curtains aside. Her speed kept her moving forward and, before she could see what her action had revealed, her head came into crashing contact with what seemed to be a solid glass wall. She felt a flash of searing pain, pieces of glass went flying through the air, and she felt herself falling. A dark pit seemed to loom around her, slowly trying to swallow her up. “
Nell
!” she heard a voice cry in agony.

The pain in her head was excruciating, she was surrounded by blackness, and she knew her consciousness was slipping quickly away. But she felt her shoulders gripped by a strong arm, and a shoulder was slipped under her head to support her. All the while, the voice cried urgently in her ear: “Nell,
Nell!
Oh,
God
, what have I done? Please, girl, open your eyes! Speak to me, Nell!
Please
!”

She could not refuse him. She clung to consciousness with all her will, and, with tremendous effort, opened her eyes. A man's face was bending over hers. His dark eyes were staring in anguish into hers, and his mouth was compressed into a tense line. But the handsome face, with its black, white-streaked hair, its lean, lined cheeks and high forehead was just exactly what she'd imagined it would be. She slowly and painfully lifted her hand and touched his cheek. The skin was warm, rough, unshaven … and very, very real. “
Harry …!
” she whispered weakly, with the tremor of a smile on her lips. Then she turned her face into his shoulder and let the blackness envelop her.

Chapter Nine

S
HE HAD A
dim awareness of faces bending over her from time to time. Mostly she saw Gwinnys, her eyes tearful and full of affection. Then there was Mrs. Penloe, warm and protective, lifting her from her pillow to force soup into her mouth. There was Amelia, looking fluttery and nervous, and a gray-bearded man who frowned at her and senselessly kept passing his hand in front of her eyes. And Harry, staring at her with that look of agony. But most of the time she lay in a comfortable blackness, unaware of anything except a persistent pain in her head.

Then, after what seemed a very long time, she opened her eyes and found herself looking at the familiar ceiling of her bedroom. She evidently was safely in her bed. The flickering shadows that danced across the ceiling came from the fire, she knew. Was she alone? She tried to sit up, but a pain in her forehead stabbed her. She groaned, raised her hand to head and felt, to her surprise, a heavy bandage.