The Phantom Lover (8 page)

Having instructed Mr. and Mrs. Penloe to meet with them in the sitting room, Nell set about making plans for the running of the household. It was decided that the dining room, the library, the morning room and the little sitting room in which they now sat should be cleaned and opened for their use, but that the rest of the house could be kept closed. Will Penloe was dispatched to Padstow with instructions to purchase sufficient provisions for their meals, to hire an abigail to assist the ladies with their clothing and comforts, and to aid Mrs. Penloe in tending to the expanded household. After he'd gone, the ladies asked Mrs. Penloe to prepare some sort of luncheon for them. Anything she had on hand would do, Nell told her, for they both were famished.

Mrs. Penloe, who had already opened and cleaned the dining room, set before them a modest luncheon of Cornish broth and something she called “Squab Pie.” To the ladies, who had not eaten a proper meal since they'd left Exeter three days before, the luncheon was delicious. The ingredients of the broth were easily identified—carrots, cabbage, pork scraps and leeks. But the squab pie was something of a mystery, for although Amelia tasted apple, bacon and bits of mutton in it, and Nell was convinced that onions and cream were also included, neither could find a sign of squab, or indeed any poultry, in the concoction. Nevertheless, they ate every bit that was put before them and sighed with contentment when they had finished.

During the afternoon, while Amelia retired to her room to nap, Nell, noting that the sky had brightened considerably, requested that young Jemmy take her on a tour of the grounds. The lad seemed reluctant but was persuaded to agree. He led her through the Great Hall and out the front door. She found herself in a courtyard protected from the wind on three sides by the main house and its two wings, and on the fourth by a fortress-like building with a large archway in the center. It was through this archway that they had entered the night before. “This is quite like a medieval fortress,” she exclaimed to Jemmy.

“Yes'm,” the boy answered, “that just what it is. In old Cornish, it was called the Dinas of Thorne. That means the Thornes' Hill-fort.”

“Why
Hill-fort
?” she asked.

“When we come round to the back, you'll see for yoursel',” the boy said with a smile.

They walked around the east wing of the house, through some well-planned but overgrown gardens, to the back. There the land sloped sharply down to the cliffs which edged the estuary. The grounds close to the house were beautifully terraced and dotted with fascinating, wind-blown trees like those she'd seen from the carriage the evening before. But what took her breath away was the sight of the wide Camel Estuary beyond the cliffs and of the Atlantic beyond, stretching in gray majesty to the far horizon. The height of the grounds on which she stood permitted her a panoramic view of land, sea and sky. “Now I understand about the Hill-fort,” she told the boy with a smile of insight. “The Dinas of Thorne.
Thorndene!
The Thorne's fort on the hill.”

She looked back at the manorhouse looming up behind her, its gray granite stone and mullioned windows shining in the light of the quickly setting sun. It was an imposing sight. “What are those buildings over there?” Nell asked, gesturing to her right.

Jemmy gave her a quick, nervous glance. “The … stables …” he said hesitantly.

“Let's walk over to them, shall we?” she suggested.

“Well … I … 'Tis a longish bit o' walk …”

“Nonsense,” Nell said briskly, keeping her eyes fixed on his face.

He flicked her a worried look and then lowered his eyes to the ground. “'Tis close to dinner time. My mum may have need o' me in the kitchen.”

“It
is
getting late,” Nell agreed readily, “and I've kept you from your work too long. Go along to your duties, Jemmy. I'll walk over to the stables by myself.”

Jemmy's face flushed with alarm. “Yoursel'?” he asked uncomfortably. “You don't want to do that! Why, 'tis … 'tis …”

“What, Jemmy? What troubles you, boy?”

The boy kicked at a pebble underfoot. “'Tain't seemly, you walkin' about by yoursel',” he muttered.

She raised her eyebrows in cool rebuff. “There is nothing unseemly in my walking about on my own grounds. And it is much
more
unseemly for you to talk to me in that way,” she said reprovingly.

“Yes'm, I'm sorry,” the boy said sheepishly, but he didn't move.

“Well, go along, Jemmy. Your chores are waiting.”

He sighed. “Best I go with 'ee,” he said truculently. “Mum'd trounce me proper if I let 'ee go off alone.”

“But why?” Nell asked curiously.

Jemmy, though a good, honest boy, was not at all lacking in imagination. The loneliness of his life in Cornwall encouraged his talents for pranks, storytelling and invention. So he was not long at a loss for words. “The
presence
, y'know,” he said in a suddenly conspiratorial tone. “I didn't wish to frighten 'ee, but one cain't be certain when the … the presence will show himsel'.”

“The presence? What do you mean?”

“The ghost, ma'am,” he said, looking at her with wide-eyed innocence. “The Thorndene ghost, y'know. Sure, you must have heard o' the ghost?”

“More than I wish to,” Nell answered drily. “You don't mean to tell me that a grown boy like you believes in ghosts?”

“Oh, yes'm, I do! An' so would 'ee, if you'd seen him as many times as I've done!”

“So you've seen him, have you? Well, well! You stir my interest, Jemmy. I quite look forward to meeting your ghost myself. But now, if you please, lead the way to the stables.”

The reason for the boy's reluctance to show her the stables was not clear to Nell at first. The buildings were unexceptional, well-kept and orderly, the few horses housed inside were healthy-looking carriage horses, and, in a corner stall, Nell noted a graceful mare who seemed perfectly suited for her to ride when weather should permit. But the boy's unease did not abate. He stayed close at her side and seemed to be trying to hurry her out. A sudden, loud neighing cleared the mystery. Nell raised her head to trace the sound, but the boy tried to block her view. “What was that?” she asked, startled.

“Nought to trouble 'ee, ma'am,” the boy said promptly. “We'd best start back.”

Nell, ignoring his suggestion, thrust him out of her way and strode to the stall behind him. “Good Lord! What a
magnificent
animal!” she exclaimed as her eyes fell on the great black beast whose existence the boy had evidently been trying to hide. It was the most splendid horse she'd ever seen, combining a feeling of tremendous power with a graceful beauty. “Whose horse is that?” she asked, awe-struck.

Jemmy's mind raced, but he could think of no explanation for the presence of such a horse. “Well, it … ah … it b'longs to the Thornes, o'course …” he said stumblingly.

Nell tore her eyes from the beautiful animal and fixed them on the discomfitted boy. “The Thornes, you say? How interesting. I'm surprised they keep him here, hidden away from the world, when he'd surely have been the talk of London had they taken him there.”

The boy shrugged without attempting to answer.

“Who exercises him? Who rides him? Surely not
you
?” Nell asked.

The boy lifted his head proudly. “I ride him sometimes … when he—I mean, when I'm permitted.”

“
He
? Who is it who permits you?”

Jemmy bit his lip. “My dad,” he said, lowering his eyes to the ground again.

“Is it your
dad
who rides him?” she persisted, disbelieving.

He glanced up at her briefly. “Yes'm,” he said shortly.

“I shouldn't think a man his age could manage an animal that size,” Nell remarked.

The boy didn't answer. After waiting a moment she shrugged and turned back to the horse. “Well, he seems very well cared for, by the look of him. What's his name?”

“He's called Caceres.”

“Caceres,” Nell repeated lovingly. “That's Spanish, isn't it?”

“Yes'm. That's where he was bred,” the boy said, stroking the horse's nozzle proudly.

Nell watched the horse for another moment. “He certainly is a beauty,” she said and turned to leave. With her hand on the stable door, she turned to look back at Jemmy, who was checking Caceres' stall door. “But I can't understand why you didn't want me to see him.”

Jemmy opened his mouth to protest, but Nell stopped him with a motion of her hand. “Don't bother to deny it, boy. I'm not easily put off the mark by lies—or by ghost stories, either.” And she turned on her heel and walked out.

Will Penloe returned before sunset, his wagon loaded with provisions and accompanied by the young woman he'd hired to be the a bigail. The girl was called Gwinnys, a name taken from that of a Cornish saint, she promptly explained. Gwinnys had a broad, heart-shaped face, full lips turned up in a perpetual smile and hair that hung about her face in unkempt tendrils, as if she'd washed it in the sea and had let it dry without bothering to comb it. She looked about the house with eager interest, keeping up a flow of excited comments about her delight in being permitted to work in the “great house.” Her thick West-country accent delighted the ladies, and by the time Amelia had helped her brush her hair and Nell had found a clean and proper dress for her to wear, they both agreed that they were pleased with her. The girl's persistent cheerfulness, her enthusiastic eagerness to perform any task assigned to her (and many that were not) made her pleasant to have about. She brightened up the gloomy house considerably.

Mrs. Penloe viewed Gwinnys' arrival with mixed feelings. While her presence would undoubtedly relieve Mrs. Penloe's load of work, it would, at the same time, make her life more complicated; she would have to take special care to keep Lord Thorne out of sight. His meals would have to be prepared and spirited up to him only at times when Gwinnys was not likely to pop into the kitchen. All the Penloes would have to put strict guard on their tongues when the girl was around. More and more, Mrs. Penloe wished her guests would go away.

Nevertheless, it was an excellent dinner she put before the ladies that evening. The dining room, aired and dusted and gleaming, made Nell and Amelia glad they had worn proper dinner dress. They looked around in pleased surprise at the warm glow of the polished table, the epergne in the center filled with fruit and bright candles, and the cheerful fire in the hearth. The mutton, the smoked pilchards (a fish whose omnipresence any visitor to Cornwall soon learns to accept) and the Likky Pie were all deliciously prepared. Gwinnys helped Mrs. Penloe serve, her smile adding to the pleasant atmosphere. For the first time since their arrival, Lady Amelia showed signs of becoming her cheerful self. And after Nell suggested that Gwinnys be given Amelia's dressing room in which to sleep, she became almost reconciled to remaining. The suggestion was greeted with equal eagerness by Amelia and Gwinnys. Gwinnys had never had such a beautiful room before, she exclaimed, and Amelia, with Gwinnys so close by, could face the night with a feeling of security. At long last, Nell began to feel that their stay in Cornwall might turn out to be not so very bad after all.

When they retired for the night, Amelia made Nell promise to call out loudly if anything untoward should occur. “I'm a very light sleeper,” she assured the girl. “The moment I hear you, I shall instantly rouse Gwinnys and we both shall come flying to your aid.”

Remembering the shaken old woman who had burst in on her the night before, Amelia's brave words and vigorous tone made Nell laugh. She shook her head and assured her companion that she was not in the least worried about a ghost-visit. Then she went to her room and locked her door. Without the least hesitation, she crossed to the window and checked the latch. It was securely bolted. She drew the heavy drapes and closed the sheer curtains that covered the inner arch of the window enclosure. Then, true to her words, unperturbed by any nervousness or unease, she soon slipped into a deep, untroubled sleep.

When the ghost appeared, a little after midnight, he found it necessary to crash his chains into the wall three or four times before the sleeping figure made any movement at all. Finally, however, the sound penetrated Nell's consciousness, and she sat up with a start. “Who's there?” she muttered sleepily.

There was no answer but the rattle of chains, a thump or two, and a dim light appeared behind the curtain. Then, just as Amelia had described, a candle floated into view, exactly as if it
were
being held by an unseen hand. “Come now, speak up,” Nell demanded. “Who's there? What sort of hoax is this?”

Again there was no answer, but the candle began to swing to and fro alarmingly. Nell leaned forward. “Stop that this instant!” she ordered. “Do you want to set fire to the curtains?”

Nell was sure she heard a brief snort of laughter, but the sound became a moan before she had time to identify it with certainty. The moan was low and definitely masculine. “So, there
is
someone there! Is it you, Will Penloe?”

There was another moan, but this time with an unmistakably negative tone.

“Are you trying to make me believe that you really
are
a ghost?” Nell inquired of the candle.

This time the moan was affirmative.

“Are you going to do nothing but moan?” Nell asked querulously. “I don't see how we're going to converse at all sensibly this way. Can't you speak?”

There was another moan, but whether it was an affirmative or negative answer, Nell couldn't say. She tossed aside the bedclothes and swung her legs over the side of the bed decisively. “Can you see me, ghost?” she asked. “I give you fair warning that I'm getting out of bed. If you don't take yourself off this minute, I shall douse you with this pitcher of water.” And she reached for the pitcher on the bedside table and held it up for the ghost to see.