Rebecca's Ghost

by Marianne Petit

  Wearied with indecision, she turned.

  His soul was scared with so much hurt.

  She shoved the parchment into her pocket and ran.

  Let him hold on to the belief that William is his.

  Tears spilling from her eyes, she threw open the front doors and ran into the dark hall.

  Her frantic footsteps echoed in the silence.

  Her vision unfocused by grief, she rounded the corner.

  “Mistress!”

  She stopped short, inches away from knocking Tyler off his feet.

  Quickly she wiped her cheeks.

  “Mistress, are you feeling poorly?”

  “Nay.” She shook her head. “‘Tis nothing but a bee sting I should attend to.” She hid her hand in the folds of her skirt, lest he ask to see the bite.

  Tyler’s heavy gray brows arched with concern. “Are you sure? I could--”

  “Nay. I am fine. Honestly.”

  His deep set, serious, brown eyes studied her for a moment. Then, he handed her a piece of paper. “This arrived, but a moment ago.”

  “A post? Who?”

  “My regrets, Mistress, I do not know. ‘Twas left at the door.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tyler nodded, turned to leave, then turned back. “I must say Mistress. This house will miss your presence.”

  “I shall miss this house and all those in it.”

  His nod curt, his body stiff, he pivoted on his heel away from her, but not before she could swear she’d seen tears in his eyes.

  “And Tyler…”

  He stopped in his tracks.

  “Thank you. Thank you for everything?”

  “Twas my pleasure.” That said, he disappeared down the hall.

  She stared down at the envelope which bore no name, but her own.

  ‘Twasn’t from Marlinda. She confessed she hadn’t the time to respond to Elizabeth’s note. So, from whom did this come? Quickly she tore the envelope open and read the unfamiliar hand.

  “Nay!” Panic sliced through her abdomen like a sharp blade.

  “William!”

  Her heart slamming into her chest, she ran up the stairs toward his chambers and threw open the door.

  “William, where are you?” Her high-pitched cry echoed in the chill black silence of the room.

  She gasped, panting in terror.

  Frantically, she searched his other rooms, as anguish constricted her lungs. Wheezing, she bolted down the stairs and ran outside toward the stables.

  Her body shaking with fear, horrid images built as the words death and keep your silence, bounced across her mind.

  William had been kidnapped!

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Philip entered the front hall and let the door of his home slam shut behind him.

  He had made a decision. He was going to ask for Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.

  He’d spent hours pacing before Rebecca’s grave; hours debating, arguing the goods and bads. He had prayed and searched the sky for an answer, from above, hearing nothing but the wind rattling the leaves and the bird’s noisy chatter.

  ‘Twas the remembered words, written by Elizabeth’s mother, in her diary, that had finally cleared his tormented mind.

  Behold, there are no certainties in life. No promise for a clear tomorrow free of woes. At times, life inflicts its worst, but lo, even from the charred embers of a forest destroyed, life is borne. So capture the good in your life and hold on tight. This is what gets me thru my days.

  Those words would get him through each day one step at a time, for the thought that Elizabeth would be leaving him today was unbearable, more so than his fears.

  Perhaps ‘twas a selfish act on his part but, if Elizabeth’s words had been true, if she could live without a child of her own flesh and blood then he would see to it that anything she desired, within his ability, he would bestow upon her.

  He bound up the stairs two at a time.

  The door to her chambers slammed open with a thud that rocked the walls.

  “Elizabeth!”

  Silence.

  He pivoted and he ran up the stairs to William’s chambers. His gaze darted around the room

  “Elizabeth!”

  He bolted through the other rooms.

  “William?”

  No response. Had he missed her? Anxiety quelled any joy he’d felt, but moments ago. Had she left without a word of good-bye?

  He clenched his hand. A wretched sense of loneliness assailed him. His mind languid, his heart heavy he leaned against the doorframe.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an envelope sticking out from under the door. He bent down to pick the post up.

  “Ye Lordship. Ye Lordship!” Mary’s earth shattering cry pierced the silent hall.

  “I am over here.” He stepped into the hall.

  “Elizabeth has she left--” Visibly shaken, Mary’s face appeared flushed, her eyes glazed. A flicker of apprehension bolted through him.

  He shoved the note in his pocket.“What cause have you to be alarmed in such a manner?” He placed his hand on her shoulder in an effort to calm her. “Is Elizabeth--”

  “Gone.”

  A sharp stab of anger and despair jumbled together, clouding his thoughts. ‘Twas true. She had left without a word. His shoulders slumped.

  “And so is Master William.”

  It took a moment for Mary’s words to register.

  “What! Perhaps they are in the gardens. Have you--”

  “Aye. And the stables and the outer houses too are being searched. Tyler is down by the river, searching the river,” she repeated, her face a mask of terror.

  Assailed by a terrible sense of fear, Philip charged past her.

  A warm breeze blew against his face as he ran outside and ice cold foreboding twisted his gut.

  Why would Elizabeth take William off the grounds without telling anyone? Did she not realize the anxiety she had placed his entire staff in? They all searched the grounds in a riot that fueled his own apprehension.

  Marlinda Vanderness stepped from the kitchen. She shook her head and hurried into the smokehouse.

  Mary clambered up a hill toward the necessary.

  Another servant ducked into the lumber house.

  Tyler hurried toward him.

  “Did you check the river? A disturbing sense of dread wavered Philip’s voice.” Maybe they are by the river.” The thought that his son could have fallen into the water, shook his limbs.

  “No sign of either one of them. But never fear, sir. I am sure the Mistress had a good reason to take him with her. Perhaps she left a note?”

  “A note.” He dug into his pocket. “Yes.” How foolish of him not to have remembered.

  The sound of carriage wheels rolling over the crushed shelled ground broke into their conversation.

  Katherine’s carriage advanced down the long path toward them. The coach came to an abrupt stop before him. The driver got down and opened the door.

  “Philip dearest.” She held out her hand.

  Good Lord, not now. He pulled his fingers from his pocket and helped Katherine from the coach.

  Tension bunched his nerves and knotted his gut and he wanted nothing more than to rid himself of her presence.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed your son--”

  “What?” Philip’s voice boomed with anger. He pushed past her and reached into the carriage.

  William sat glum-faced.

  Agitated when Philip picked him up, he squirmed in his arms.

  Philip placed him on the ground.

  Mary rushed over and grabbed his hand.

  William stamped his feet and jerked from her hold.

  Philip’s face burned with anger. “How dare you take my son out without my permission!”

  “I--I thought…” Katherine wrung her hands together. “I couldn’t find you and thought to please you by taking him to get a gift.”

  She swiveled on her heel, reached into the c
oach, and pulled out a wooden hoop and stick.

  Philip studied her carefully, wondering why after all these years she’d suddenly developed the desire to acknowledge his son, let alone take him shopping.

  “Goodness.” She shoved the toy at a servant. “If I’d realized I would have been met with such animosity I wouldn’t have gone out of my way. I did tell one of them.” She flicked her fingers at his servants. “Perhaps the next time--”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  Shocked by his words her light brown eyes widened.

  He turned to Mary. “Take my son inside.”

  William’s stamping grew more furious. He flailed his arms out around him.

  Mary tried in vain to calm him.

  Philip’s head pounded.

  And what of Elizabeth; where had she disappeared to?

  “Have you perhaps seen Mistress Elizabeth?”

  Katherine’s gaze darted away from his steady examination. “Yes. I believe… in town… shopping.”

  Her contrite words rang so untrue, he wanted to reach out and strangle her. His hands balled into fists.

  Not once had Elizabeth felt the need to go into town. She would not do so now, especially since she had declined to go with Mistress Vanderness.

  “B—oo—t.”

  Agape, Philip stared at his son, not sure he’d heard correctly. He dropped to his knees and gripped his shoulders.

  He glanced up at Mary. “Did you hear that?” Bewilderment and excitement fluted his voice.

  Tears clouded Mary’s. She made the sign of the Lord before her heaving chest.

  William stood still and stared back with an inexpressive, look to his face as though he didn’t realize the monumental significance of the moment.

  “Say it again.” Pride swelled in his chest like a peacock spreading its brilliant feathers.

  “B-boat.”

  “Yes. Yes. Boat.” The words fell from Philip’s mouth in a rush of excitement.

  He pointed to Mozart, who sauntered in their direction. “Cat. And look…” He ripped a handful of grass from the ground. “Grass, green grass.”

  The intense pleasure bubbling up within him was like a glass of champagne, light, sparkling, euphoric.

  William glanced up at Katherine and frowned. He shook his head.

  “Nay?” Confused, Philip watched him run over to her.

  “Li-z-bi-t… boat.” William hauled out and kicked Katherine in the shins. She inhaled sharply.

  “Master William!” Mary screamed as she ran over and plucked him into the crux of her arm.

  Philip jumped to his feet.

  Katherine’s face paled. Her eyes huge with horror, she stared at his son. When her gaze met his, Philip could see fear begin to spread, dulling their light depths.

  Something wasn’t right. Perhaps, she knew more than she let on.

  Sensing her need to bolt, he grabbed her upper arm. “What do you know of this?”

  “I… he… that little brat.” She jerked her arm, in an effort to break away, but he held on. She stared at William, hate, emanating from her eyes, then glanced back at him. “You best teach your son some manners,” she hissed.

  “My son is perfectly fine.” His grip tightened. “Now tell me what is going on?” He drew her closer, within inches of his face. “And don’t you ever talk ill of my son again,” he threatened, his voice hard, seething with rage.

  “I don’t--”

  “I bid you tell me….” ferociously, he shook her, “…the truth this time.”

  “Philip.” She swooned into his arms. “I am not to blame.” She shivered against him.

  He stiffened; dropped his arms at his sides, afraid he would kill her with his bare hands. Her closeness left him cold. Anger surged violently, as did his fear.

  He pushed her away. “What have you done? Where is Elizabeth?”

  “I--he…”

  “Who? If you so much as harmed one lock of hair upon her head, I’ll kill you.”

  She gasped in horror and shrank away from him.

  “Spit it out woman!” he bellowed. His lips pursed with suppressed fury.

  “I only took the child so she’d go looking for him. We…” She choked back a frightened cry. “He said he needed her. And I… I wanted her gone.” Her face pinched, her brows furrowed deeply.

  “Who?” Again he shook her. “Who wanted her?”

  She paled. “Tisdale.” The name rushed from her mouth. “Down by the harbor. In a ship bound for the Orient.”

  Philip spun on his heel.

  “Oh please.” She gripped his arm restraining him. “I love you.”

  He jerked his arm away and glanced to Tyler. “Inform the authorities.”

  “‘Tis being done as we speak.”

  “Philip. Please,” she begged, her voice thin, hysterical.

  “And see to it that Mistress Wellsworth goes along peaceably. And never steps foot in my home again.”

  His gait quick, Philip sprinted away.

  “Your horse is waiting,” Tyler shouted after him.

  Pray tell Elizabeth waited for him as well.

  ***

  Elizabeth proceeded down the long creaky pier toward the ship, the ship, she’d seen in her vision, the ship named on the parchment she held tightly in her hand.

  She glanced down at the note and read it again for the tenth time.

  If you wish to see William alive go to the Lady of the Seas docked at the harbor. Come alone or the boy will die.

  A nauseating spurt of adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her thoughts spun like a spinner’s wheel, the written words, playing over and over, ingrained in her memory.

  What if she was too late? What if? Who?

  Upon seeing the Lady of the Seas, she hesitated, her eyes widening in alarm.

  Towering above the main body of the ship, three huge masts rose toward the sky, their sails wavered slightly in the warm breeze. Hundreds of ropes hung, some intertwined like corded snakes amidst the large horizontal poles.

  A few blue clad sailors roomed around the desk, while others sat drinking and chatting amongst themselves.

  Paralyzed with fear, she stood rigid; held her breath, as a group of men skirted around her, relaxing only when they tipped their hats and smiled as they passed.

  Traders and local women caroused, the lower deck, peddling their wares

  Surely she would be safe among so many who could take witness to any peril that could befall her.

  Her eyes narrowed speculatively in a long searching assessment.

  With a deep, unsteady breath, she lifted her skirt, then stepped onto the long plank that led to the ship’s interior. Her feet swayed with the motion of the shaky walkway.

  A gull cawed above her. Her shoulders jerked in response. Her heart raced.

  Unsure, afraid, she glanced over her shoulder to the pier below. Her throat dry, her palms clammy, a sense of doom hovered above.

  With a springy bounce and a swoosh of her petticoat she doggedly made her way up the high walk. Higher and higher, farther and farther away from the ground and safety to a place no one knew she’d gone.

  Just put one foot after the other.

  She stared at her feet, keeping her gaze from the dark deep depths of the water below.

  Don’t think. Just move.

  But she couldn’t help but remember her vision. A vision that held her prisoner in the bowels of a ship, tossed about-tied-surrounded by rats.

  Straightening, she squared her shoulders and forced her gaze ahead.

  Dominating the space at the foot of the plank, by his height and sheer force, a broad-shouldered, commanding-looking man held out his hand. She allowed him to help her aboard and smiled her thanks.

  Immaculately dressed in a fitted blue naval jacket and tight white breeches, he appeared to be in his early thirties. An agreeable handsome face, his forehead high, wide, his nose irregular as though broken one too many times, his skin was a tawny gold weathered by the wind and
sun. He wore an inviting smile upon his lips that dispelled some of her fears.

  “I am first lieutenant Graham Leonard.” He clicked his heels and straightened his stance. “At your service.” His downy gray eyes beheld her.

  “I…” What could she say; kidnappers hid a child abroad his ship? That she knew not who, or why?

  Now, she silently prayed, now would be a good for a vision.

  “If ‘tis of the captain you seek. I am afraid he is not on board. But I would be more than happy to assist you. I see you carry no wares to sell, so ‘twould likely be an acquaintance you seek?”

  “Yes. An acquaintance.”

  But who?

  Her gaze darted past him.

  Who would want to harm William?

  She chewed her lower lip.

  Why?

  “You seek a friend perhaps, or a brother?” A charming smile softened his angular face. “Alas, I hope ‘tis not a husband you seek.” His blond brows arched mischievously.

  “I do not seek a husband.” She forced a polite smile.

  William. Dear Lord. Where is he?

  Her gaze shifted around her, searching for answers, and she found it—all one hundred and thirty some odd pounds of well-preserved flesh. Strolling across the deck as though he didn’t have a care in the world, Tisdale’s gaze met hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Ah, good day Lieutenant. I see you’ve met my wife.”

  “I am not--”

  The lieutenant, sensing her distress, or perhaps recalling their current conversation, stepped before her, blocking her guardian’s way. ‘Twas an act of chivalry that did not go unnoticed.

  “Newly marriage.” Tisdale grinned. “The idea hasn’t sunk in yet.” He stepped around the lieutenant and grabbed her arm.

  Her stance tightened. “Nay ‘tis not true. He--”

  “Still a little delusional, isn’t that right.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

  She cringed.

  Tisdale glanced at the Lieutenant and winked. “Arranged marriage. She’s totally against it. You know how difficult that can be.” He tugged her arm. “Come, dear we’ve a long voyage.”

  “Let go!” She jerked her arm and shot the Lieutenant a withering glance.