Wainwright joined them, the conversation turned to Knagg and other ghostly subjects, until tea was served, and then it was time to retire.
Chapter Nine
Two hauntings occurred at Keefer Hall that night. One was not discovered until the next morning; the other caused such a fracas that it kept the occupants of the west wing awake for hours.
Lord Merton, worried about his mama’s intransigence in keeping Miss Monteith for her companion, had a deal of trouble getting to sleep at all. He felt it unhealthy for his mama to have this reminder of past wrongdoing constantly before her eyes. He disliked to see five thousand pounds of Lewis’s inheritance being whistled down the wind as well, yet his mama (usually so docile) had made it crystal clear that she would brook no interference with her plans.
He had no hope now that Wainwright might rid them of this new “ghost.” A fellow with a monomania was no new thing to Merton. He had a cousin who wanted to be an Italian; wanted to live in Italy, but as the war made that precarious, he had changed his name from Joseph Dechastelaine to Giuseppi Mertoni, built himself an Italian villa on the banks of the Thames, staffed it with Italian servants, ate Italian food, built himself a gondola, and read only Italian. He had not exchanged a word with his non-Italian-speaking family for ten years. And good riddance to him!
Foolish as this was, it was at least based in reality. Wainwright’s monomania was based on air. Yet it was odd that the yellow jerkin and the round helmet had been thrown to the ground. Were there such things as ghosts, or those noise ghosts Wainwright had spoken of? Apparently many otherwise sane folks thought so. The Montagus, for instance. As he tossed and turned, he decided to leave such worries for morning and lull himself to sleep with thoughts of Miss Wainwright.
Her beauty was not of the aggressive sort that leaped out and vanquished a man at first glance. But as he spent more time in her company, he found her softer charms to be insidious. She was not one to flirt or tease or flatter an eligible parti. In fact, she had risked his wrath to venture that suggestion that either he or Lewis was an adulterine son. She had quite insisted on it. Really, that was doing it a bit brown! She was not at all the sort of lady a gentleman in his position should consider marrying. She had no particular accomplishments; she boasted no noble connections, and as her papa was a younger son, her dowry would be insignificant.
Yet she was a lively lady. When she smiled, her eyes sparkled. And when she walked, she moved with the grace of a cat. He quite looked forward to riding with her tomorrow. Her riding habit had arrived and been delivered to her room. He would take her through the spinney to the brook, to show her where he used to catch tadpoles. The bluebells should be out by now. It was a pretty spot for ... His eyelids fluttered shut on this happy thought.
It was an hour later that he was aroused from a deep sleep by a crooning chant. His first thought when he opened his eyes was that it was odd the moon was shining in his room. His valet always closed the curtains. And what was that sound ...
He sat up and stared all around. There, caught in a shaft of moonlight by his door, stood a woman dressed in some light color. She wore a shawl over her head. As he stared, rubbing his eyes, he thought it was Miss Wainwright. What could account for her coming to his room? Surely she was not that sort of girl!
“Miss Wainwright! Is something wrong?” he asked.
The woman moved a step closer. On the bodice of her gown he noticed a dark smear. A graceful hand moved, pressing the stain. A low moan issued from her throat. Then the hand moved again, pointing to the cold grate.
“There! There he smote me the killing blow. There I lay, my life blood oozing from me. Ah, pity, pity me, thou unbeliever.”
Her gown, some wispy arrangement of draperies, moved and then she was gone.
Chapter Nine
Two hauntings occurred at Keefer Hall that night. One was not discovered until the next morning; the other caused such a fracas that it kept the occupants of the west wing awake for hours.
Lord Merton, worried about his mama’s intransigence in keeping Miss Monteith for her companion, had a deal of trouble getting to sleep at all. He felt it unhealthy for his mama to have this reminder of past wrongdoing constantly before her eyes. He disliked to see five thousand pounds of Lewis’s inheritance being whistled down the wind as well, yet his mama (usually so docile) had made it crystal clear that she would brook no interference with her plans.
He had no hope now that Wainwright might rid them of this new “ghost.” A fellow with a monomania was no new thing to Merton. He had a cousin who wanted to be an Italian; wanted to live in Italy, but as the war made that precarious, he had changed his name from Joseph Dechastelaine to Giuseppi Mertoni, built himself an Italian villa on the banks of the Thames, staffed it with Italian servants, ate Italian food, built himself a gondola, and read only Italian. He had not exchanged a word with his non-Italian-speaking family for ten years. And good riddance to him!
Foolish as this was, it was at least based in reality. Wainwright’s monomania was based on air. Yet it was odd that the yellow jerkin and the round helmet had been thrown to the ground. Were there such things as ghosts, or those noise ghosts Wainwright had spoken of? Apparently many otherwise sane folks thought so. The Montagus, for instance. As he tossed and turned, he decided to leave such worries for morning and lull himself to sleep with thoughts of Miss Wainwright.
Her beauty was not of the aggressive sort that leaped out and vanquished a man at first glance. But as he spent more time in her company, he found her softer charms to be insidious. She was not one to flirt or tease or flatter an eligible parti. In fact, she had risked his wrath to venture that suggestion that either he or Lewis was an adulterine son. She had quite insisted on it. Really, that was doing it a bit brown! She was not at all the sort of lady a gentleman in his position should consider marrying. She had no particular accomplishments; she boasted no noble connections, and as her papa was a younger son, her dowry would be insignificant.
Yet she was a lively lady. When she smiled, her eyes sparkled. And when she walked, she moved with the grace of a cat. He quite looked forward to riding with her tomorrow. Her riding habit had arrived and been delivered to her room. He would take her through the spinney to the brook, to show her where he used to catch tadpoles. The bluebells should be out by now. It was a pretty spot for ... His eyelids fluttered shut on this happy thought.
It was an hour later that he was aroused from a deep sleep by a crooning chant. His first thought when he opened his eyes was that it was odd the moon was shining in his room. His valet always closed the curtains. And what was that sound ...
He sat up and stared all around. There, caught in a shaft of moonlight by his door, stood a woman dressed in some light color. She wore a shawl over her head. As he stared, rubbing his eyes, he thought it was Miss Wainwright. What could account for her coming to his room? Surely she was not that sort of girl!
“Miss Wainwright! Is something wrong?” he asked.
The woman moved a step closer. On the bodice of her gown he noticed a dark smear. A graceful hand moved, pressing the stain. A low moan issued from her throat. Then the hand moved again, pointing to the cold grate.
“There! There he smote me the killing blow. There I lay, my life blood oozing from me. Ah, pity, pity me, thou unbeliever.”
Her gown, some wispy arrangement of draperies, moved and then she was gone.
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