wind confirmed it. He placed a cup of tea in front of her, making a veritable racket as he poured and spooned in sugar.
“Did you encounter any problems retrieving our belongings?” she asked, blowing on her tea.
“None at all.” The chair beside her creaked under his large frame. “And what of your morning? Did you encounter any spirits?”
“Yes.”
A slurp, and then he asked, “Already? Don’t tell me, was it in the attic?”
She grinned, as surely as he did, and nodded.
“Friendly?” he probed.
Her lips connected with the edge of the teacup, and she sipped. How much should she divulge of the afternoon’s events? He might inquire with the captain, so she may as well have it out with now, and she was curious to see if he could fill in some gaps.
“Quite the opposite,” she said, holding her voice steady. It wouldn’t do to alarm him. He was getting up in years, and she worried about his health. Fighting evil spirits was an exhausting pastime. “He made his ire with my presence known.”
There was a pause as Brother Anselm chewed a bite of scone, a rather large one at that, if the length of the pause was any indication. She really must speak to him about taking smaller bites lest he choke.
“He?”
“Lord Marcus Deveraux,” she offered. “We found his portrait with a nameplate in the attic. I received quite a shock when I touched it. Colder than the Atlantic on a winter morning.”
Grace tapped her foot on the floor and awaited his reaction, her posture stiff with tension. She couldn’t douse the flame of doubt flickering within her belly every time she thought of what had happened in the attic.
“Out with it, child,” he said as his hand enveloped hers. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He knew her too well. She sighed. “Devlin made a curious observation about Lord Deveraux.”
“Devlin?” He snorted. Not an inconspicuous snort, but one that held enough substance that his hand shifted against hers. “You’re on first-name terms now, are you?”
She bore enough guilt to hide her face in her teacup, sipping altogether too long for what one might consider proper. “I suppose it’s not so unusual considering he saved my life, twice.”
“Twice?” Brother Anselm asked.
She nodded. “Lord Deveraux hoped to make his dissatisfaction with our presence painfully clear. Devlin pushed me out of the direct line of a palette knife, if he’s been honest with me, and he carried me out of the attic amidst a storm of flying objects.”
“Goodness, you’ve earned your keep for one month, at least. And what was this curious observation of the captain’s?”
She smiled weakly, but it took some effort, because she was not in a mood to be entertained. What she wanted was answers to questions she found difficult to ask. Still, she must ask them if she hoped to quiet the unease welling inside of her whole body. “Did you perchance happen to meet Lord Deveraux in your lifetime?”
Brother Anselm didn’t answer her question straightaway, and the pause set her heart to racing, because it was unlike him to hesitate, unless he felt uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
“Yes, I have. Why?”
“Devlin seemed to believe I bear an uncanny resemblance to the man, both the color of my hair and eyes.”
“The likeness is astonishing,” Brother Anselm whispered.
Grace swallowed, and a strange pressure gathered on her chest. She stood and cut a path to the hearth, following the crackle of the fire, and stretched out her fingers. The soothing heat did little to prevent the shiver running down her spine as memories from her youth sprang to mind.
“When I was a little girl,” she began, twisting her hands together, “I could hear my parents arguing in their bedroom late at night. They believed I was sound asleep, but I wasn’t.”
The wooden legs of Brother Anselm’s chair scraped against the floor, but she continued her story, determined to lay it all out in her mind. She’d harbored the
“Did you encounter any problems retrieving our belongings?” she asked, blowing on her tea.
“None at all.” The chair beside her creaked under his large frame. “And what of your morning? Did you encounter any spirits?”
“Yes.”
A slurp, and then he asked, “Already? Don’t tell me, was it in the attic?”
She grinned, as surely as he did, and nodded.
“Friendly?” he probed.
Her lips connected with the edge of the teacup, and she sipped. How much should she divulge of the afternoon’s events? He might inquire with the captain, so she may as well have it out with now, and she was curious to see if he could fill in some gaps.
“Quite the opposite,” she said, holding her voice steady. It wouldn’t do to alarm him. He was getting up in years, and she worried about his health. Fighting evil spirits was an exhausting pastime. “He made his ire with my presence known.”
There was a pause as Brother Anselm chewed a bite of scone, a rather large one at that, if the length of the pause was any indication. She really must speak to him about taking smaller bites lest he choke.
“He?”
“Lord Marcus Deveraux,” she offered. “We found his portrait with a nameplate in the attic. I received quite a shock when I touched it. Colder than the Atlantic on a winter morning.”
Grace tapped her foot on the floor and awaited his reaction, her posture stiff with tension. She couldn’t douse the flame of doubt flickering within her belly every time she thought of what had happened in the attic.
“Out with it, child,” he said as his hand enveloped hers. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He knew her too well. She sighed. “Devlin made a curious observation about Lord Deveraux.”
“Devlin?” He snorted. Not an inconspicuous snort, but one that held enough substance that his hand shifted against hers. “You’re on first-name terms now, are you?”
She bore enough guilt to hide her face in her teacup, sipping altogether too long for what one might consider proper. “I suppose it’s not so unusual considering he saved my life, twice.”
“Twice?” Brother Anselm asked.
She nodded. “Lord Deveraux hoped to make his dissatisfaction with our presence painfully clear. Devlin pushed me out of the direct line of a palette knife, if he’s been honest with me, and he carried me out of the attic amidst a storm of flying objects.”
“Goodness, you’ve earned your keep for one month, at least. And what was this curious observation of the captain’s?”
She smiled weakly, but it took some effort, because she was not in a mood to be entertained. What she wanted was answers to questions she found difficult to ask. Still, she must ask them if she hoped to quiet the unease welling inside of her whole body. “Did you perchance happen to meet Lord Deveraux in your lifetime?”
Brother Anselm didn’t answer her question straightaway, and the pause set her heart to racing, because it was unlike him to hesitate, unless he felt uncomfortable with the topic at hand.
“Yes, I have. Why?”
“Devlin seemed to believe I bear an uncanny resemblance to the man, both the color of my hair and eyes.”
“The likeness is astonishing,” Brother Anselm whispered.
Grace swallowed, and a strange pressure gathered on her chest. She stood and cut a path to the hearth, following the crackle of the fire, and stretched out her fingers. The soothing heat did little to prevent the shiver running down her spine as memories from her youth sprang to mind.
“When I was a little girl,” she began, twisting her hands together, “I could hear my parents arguing in their bedroom late at night. They believed I was sound asleep, but I wasn’t.”
The wooden legs of Brother Anselm’s chair scraped against the floor, but she continued her story, determined to lay it all out in her mind. She’d harbored the
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