If it didn’t grate every nerve in his body, Rain would suggest that Bell marry Teddy. It would solve a great deal.
Except he didn’t think Teddy would hand over his wife to Rain after the ceremony.
Maybe he should look into the distant cousin and murder Teddy.
He ought to head for the gymnasium and pound a bag a few rounds before visiting his cousin’s lair, but he hadn’t the time for it. Stepping out of his office, Rain kept a wary eye on the crowd gathering on and around the grand staircase. They appeared to be studying the enormous chandelier hanging two stories above. Did they intend to blow in tandem to see if the fixture swung?
He greeted his guests as he traversed the stairs but didn’t stop to talk. At least there weren’t operatic arguments echoing from the upper floor as he took the next flight up. And Alicia’s musicales had apparently come to an end. There would be bloody awful silence in a few months, he feared.
Teddy’s studio door was open, and furious voices rang down the hall as he approached. Rain sighed in exasperation. He hadn’t realized painting was such a noisy business.
Before he could knock, what sounded like a shot rang out. A woman screeched. Alicia shouted. Rain threw himself at the studio door, flinging the door wide so it hit the wall, hoping to startle any assailant.
Garbed in an awful black rag, with her hair straggling about her shoulders, Alicia cast him a look of disgust. “We were just reaching the climax, Rainford! Now we must start all over.”
Lying on the floor, looking dead, Teddy lifted his furry head. “Hey, old chap, I didn’t think we were making too much clamor this time.”
The actress of the flimsy gowns was in even flimsier attire this morning. She lowered the weapon she held, picked up a shawl to cover her considerable assets, and drifted to the roaring fire in the grate.
Rain took a deep breath, pushed down his panic, and controlled his voice. “Franklin tells me you wish to set up a stage in the drawing room, but the only space that can accommodate it is under Grandmother’s chandelier. We do not have time to ascertain its safety before this evening. You’ll either need to postpone your theatrics or take them elsewhere.”
“We can’t postpone!” the actress wailed. “You promised me, Teddy! The guests will all be gone shortly. We need to do it before they leave.”
“We need the chandelier.” Alicia gave him a look of disdain. “The whole drama is based on the chandelier. It came to me clearly last night and is probably the most brilliant thing I’ve ever written.”
“Then stage it in the dining room. They should have that fixture repaired by evening. Or construct a make-believe one and hold it in the music room. I don’t care. I simply don’t want chandeliers falling on people’s heads.” Rain watched as Teddy staggered to his feet, apparently healthy and unharmed. He might wish his cousin to Hades upon occasion, but he didn’t wish him dead.
The problem was all his own and not Teddy’s.
“Thanks for the warning, old fellow. I’ll create the most masterful chandelier in existence out of canvas. Tell Franklin to set up the stage in the music room.” Teddy ambled over to his collection of canvas rolls.
“I’ll start deducting the cost of excess coal from your allowance if you insist on burning through it.” Rain nodded at the flames meant to keep unclothed models, and actresses, from freezing, then walked out, frustrated and annoyed and with no way to release his tension.
He met Bell coming up the stairs.
“I heard screams. Is everyone all right?” she asked breathlessly, still carrying the books she must have been taking to her room.
“This evening’s entertainment, I believe,” he said dryly, taking the books and gesturing for her to turn around and go back down. “How are you always in a place where the drama is happening? You heard Lady Rutledge when no one else did, if I remember correctly. I have an aunt with acute hearing but did not think that was your case.”
She pondered as they reached the guest floor. Maids and footmen scurried about, helping guests depart.
“I’ve never lived in a place this large. Hearing noise in Craigmore Manor was not surprising. Even the few months I lived in Calder Castle had very little in the way of. . . excitement. It’s much smaller, and a large part of it was library. So I can’t say that I noticed hearing anything unusual before coming here. Your aunt must have lost her mind living with this circus. But you’re correct, I think. Lady Rutledge wasn’t sobbing loudly. Your spirits simply carried her sorrow, I think.”
“And now? Aren’t you usually in your office at this hour, far from Teddy’s theater?”
Her expression was troubled. “Usually, except I had the urge to visit my new suite, perhaps carry some of my effects there.”
“So you traipsed all the way from the far wing to your chamber just to carry a few books back?” He stopped at her bedroom door.
“When you say it like that—”
The chandelier over the marble stairs began to swing and shriek.
Fearing Rain meant to make a mad dash to save his guests, Bell caught his strong arm and held him back. Intelligently, his guests and servants below fled the creaking fixture. “She’s angry and impatient and wants us to know it. I doubt a spirit has the kind of mechanical knowledge or focus to understand the damage the swinging might cause.”
“How do you know this?” Rain normally had a compellingly composed voice that he seldom raised, but he sounded as close to angry as she’d ever heard.
“I wish I knew. I am sensitive enough to know spirits exist. But. . . this is different. I feel her sorrow and frustration.” Bell supposed the spirit’s pain may have drawn her from her office, but the sensation was too new to understand. “It could be that she simply takes advantage of my presence. Perhaps I should stay on the other end of the house.”
It would be dreadfully lonely, but Bell couldn’t bear to cause harm if it was her presence causing the ghost’s reactions.
The chandelier groaned and swung wider. The household began to gather, upstairs and down, keeping a safe distance. Bell watched in horror, certain the beautiful piece with all its crystals would come tumbling down at any moment.
“All right,” she whispered in resignation. “Let us hold a séance this evening, preferably somewhere far away from people and chandeliers.”
Rain clasped the hand she held on his arm.
The chandelier slowed its spinning.
With that evidence, they had no other choice.
“I’ll tell my sisters.” Grimly, Rain released her hand. “I’ll ask them to determine the safest place and let you know.”
He set off like a man on a mission.
Bell wasn’t entirely certain it was a relief that he believed her. Another man might have scoffed or ordered her to stay away. They could all pretend the house’s foundations were the problem. She didn’t think one person in a hundred would believe a ghost was threatening them because it wanted to talk to Bell.
Hearing a child crying, she glanced around to see if any of the ladies noticed. The children had governesses. The nursery was of no concern to her.
But no one else seemed to hear—just as no one had noticed Lady Rutledge crying. With a sigh, she returned the books to her room, then set out for the upper floor again.
As always, Bell clung tightly to the banister on the way up. She hoped she might throw herself forward if she felt vaporish, but stairs always made her uneasy. That was the disadvantage of her new rooms—stairs in an area where no one would find her if she fell. Charming.
She followed the long line of closed doors to the far end of the upper hall. Apparently, she should have taken the other staircase, but she hadn’t wanted to cross paths with the swinging chandelier. How could she possibly have heard a child from that distance?
Now that she was close, she could hear children shouting and playing. They sounded happy enough.
She really did not want to go inside. She loved watching children, but they were loud and rambunctious and sta
rtled her much too easily. Fainting in front of a roomful of children. . . Perhaps she could just knock and ask a nursemaid about a crying child.
Balking at being so craven, she took a deep breath and opened the nursery doors. A wave of sound broke over her. A confusion of small bodies raced about with dolls and swords, shouting and screaming. One young boy wore a pirate kerchief over his hair and held a doll with a toy sword at its neck. Girls shrieked. Toddlers jumped and tumbled.
Despite the chaos, an unperturbed older woman who might be a governess approached. “I hope the noise is not bothering you, my lady. The children needed a little exercise after their studies.”
Bell clung to the door knob for support. “No, they are fine. It is just. . . I thought I heard crying.” She swallowed hard and listened. “I still hear her.”
“That is most likely Drucilla, Lady Dalrymple’s child. We do not know what to do with her. Her leg is crippled, and even though we’ve tried to accommodate her, she is always unhappy.” The teacher looked truly upset.
“Lady Dalrymple?” Bell tried to place her among the many guests, but mostly, they were single ladies. She hadn’t thought any had children. One of the widows, perhaps. She seemed to recall a mouse of a woman at the dinner table.
“A cousin from the duke’s side,” the governess explained. “She was widowed before Drucilla was born. They’ve led a tragic life.”
Ah, definitely one of the widows vying for Rain’s attention. “May I meet Drucilla? I am not very good with children who run about, but perhaps—”
The governess looked most eager. “Would you? We are at wits’ end.”
Reluctantly, Bell followed her through the spacious chamber littered with small tables and chairs, rocking horses, and various treacherous toys left abandoned in every corner. One girl screamed and darted behind Bell’s skirt, catching the fabric as she hid from the marauding pirate. The governess sent the pair on their ways.
Bell hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out again.
“Drucilla prefers the bedroom. We left her with some picture books and a doll. I cannot imagine why we did not hear her crying.”
“I assume Drucilla is a Malcolm? We sometimes communicate with each other better than with others, although I would think all the Rainford children. . .” Bell gestured at the tow-headed rowdy lot.
The governess nodded. “They’re all related, yes, as am I, from a distant branch. I’m Philippa Malcolm Damon. You’re Lady Craigmore, aren’t you? I am usually with Lady Estelle, and she’s told me about you. We all have our different talents. Perhaps you’re more receptive than I am.”
To spirits, perhaps, not children, not to Bell’s knowledge.
They entered a room with a row of child-size cots. In a rocking chair in a corner by the grate, a little girl of about five sat with a doll in her lap, sobbing into the toy’s hair. She did not look up at their approach.
“Drucilla, this is Lady Craigmore. She heard you crying and asked after you. Can you say, ‘Hello, my lady?’”
The child sniffed, muttered something incomprehensible, and buried her face in the doll again.
“Let us talk alone a little while, Miss Damon. You have your hands full with the others.”
The governess laughed easily. “They’re good children, just full of energy. Let me know if you need anything.”
After she left, Bell drew over a chair and looked through the books left on a table. “I cry when I’m lonely or sad or afraid. Can you tell me which you are?”
The child shook her head.
Acting on instinct more than any knowledge of how a child’s mind worked, Bell found a fairy-tale book and opened it to the pictures. “I’ve never seen fairies, have you?”
Drucilla looked up warily to study the drawing of a lovely flying creature with gossamer wings. She shook her head.
Bell flipped the pages to see if there were any familiar stories. “I’ve not seen gnomes or witches, either.” She pointed at an illustration of a frightened little boy and girl cowering from a black-hatted witch. “Not that kind of witch, anyway. I don’t know any mean witches. I don’t see any ghosts in here. Have you ever seen ghosts?”
Drucilla’s eyes widened. “Mama says there’s no such thing as a ghost.”
Oops. Out of all the many Malcolm children running about, there had to be at least one sensitive to the mansion’s anxious spirits, Bell supposed. Looks like she’d found her.
Hiding any reaction, Bell nodded and continued turning pages. “Very few people can see ghosts. They don’t like to believe what they can’t see. But I see them, so I know they’re real.”
That was a lie. Other than that dark shadow under the musician’s gallery, she’d never seen one. But she knew they were real. She had an uneasy notion that one had sent her up here.
“You see ghosts?” the child asked in awe. “Do people laugh at you?”
Bell shrugged. “Of course. Most of the time, I just don’t tell anyone. But sometimes, the spirit has something that needs to be said. It’s not easy knowing when to tell anyone.”
“They scare me.” Drucilla buried her face in the doll again.
“Would it help if you sat on my lap? Maybe we can talk to your ghost and make her go away?” Bell set the book aside.
“I can’t get up good.” The child sounded a bit angry about that.
Bell couldn’t see the damaged leg under the child’s long skirt and petticoat. She didn’t know how damaged it was, so she couldn’t encourage her to walk. “If you will allow me, I’ll pick you up. Has your Uncle Rainford looked at your leg?” She didn’t wait for permission but simply lifted the child from the rocker and sat down with her.
Drucilla shook her head again. “It got broke and can’t be fixed. I don’t care. I don’t want to play with those meanies anyway.”
Bell knew enough about children to realize they often said the exact opposite of what they meant in order to hide how they felt. She hugged the small creature in her lap and lifted the book. “We won’t worry about your leg for now. Let’s talk about the ghosts that make you scared. What do they do?” She pointed at the flying fairy. “Do they fly?”
“No, silly,” the child scoffed. “They float.” She turned the book pages and pointed at a magic genie on a carpet. “Like that. Except they got no rug. And no feet, I think.”
Interesting. Seeing a ghost was probably a lot scarier than hearing one. “My ghost sounds more scared than I am. What does yours look like?”
“There’s lots of ghosts,” she declared. “Lots and lots. The lady is angry. She makes doors slam, and I get yelled at.”
“Ah, yes, that’s a problem. She’s slamming doors everywhere. She’s very angry. I think it’s because she’s also sad, but she doesn’t talk to me in ways that I can understand. Does she talk to you?” Bell was terrified for the child but had utterly no idea what to do.
Drucilla shrugged again. “Mama says I’m supposed to play with children and not listen to things I make up in my head.”
That was a trifle difficult for a child who couldn’t even climb out of a chair. “It’s hard to tell if we’re making up things or hearing things, I know. But I’d like to see your ghosts sometime.”
Bell tried to understand how to help the child, but she felt lost in this situation. “If I tell Miss Damon to send for me whenever a ghost makes you afraid, would you tell her when you see one? You don’t have to tell anyone else. I think she’ll understand. I work not too far from here, and I’d come just as soon as I could.”
Drucilla pondered that while flipping pages of the book. “I guess so,” she said reluctantly. “I don’t like being scared.”
“Neither do I, love.” She squeezed the child again. “So maybe if we talk to the angry lady together, she’ll go away.”
She nodded a little stronger. “Mama says if we work together, things get done faster. I help with her yarn.”
Then her mother wasn’t a complete simpleton, thank heavens. “So
we can help each other with our ghosts. I’d like that. I have to go back to work now, but I’ll talk to Miss Damon. I’m Lady Craigmore. Promise you’ll have Miss Damon send for me when you’re scared?” Bell stood and set the child back in the chair so she could read her little face.
A serious child with a long blond braid, Drucilla frowned in thought. “All right. Can I just call you Lady? I don’t remember all that rest so well.”
“Lady C. You know your alphabet, don’t you? Just ask for Lady C, and she’ll know who I am.” Leaving the child with the picture book, Bell went in search of Miss Damon.
With a graying braid wrapped around her head, in the somber clothes of a governess, Miss Damon approached the instant Bell entered the schoolroom.
“Drucilla sees ghosts.” Bell spoke brusquely, not allowing anyone to question her or the child’s ability. “I hear them. The next time she cries, ask if the ghost is bothering her and if you should send for me, and then do, please. I want to help, if I can.”
“Ghosts, of course, my lady. She’s a very sensitive child.” Miss Damon clasped her hands. “Should I talk to Lady Dalrymple?”
“I will, immediately.” Bell swept out, hiding her anger at a mother who would ignore her child’s fears. A Malcolm shouldn’t do that.
Of course, a Malcolm shouldn’t hide from her own fears as Bell had all these years.
Sixteen
“You have to attend my play, Rain. You have to,” Alicia cried. “I know the ghost is telling us something important!”
Rain rubbed his temple and wished his title and his responsibilities to Hades. “I’d prefer the old besom just speak her peace and be done.” He’d rather the haunt speak through Alicia’s play than inside Bell’s head, but he thought it unlikely.
“Maybe she will tonight. She communicated with Teddy, didn’t she?” Eager to be helpful, Alicia practically bounced up and down.
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