by Monica Burns
“He’s really here, isn’t he, Constance?”
“Yes, my lady. He’s here.” Her voice hitched at the love and longing emanating from the woman and ghost.
“He always said for me not to be a stubborn jackass when I was objecting to something he wanted me to do.” Lady Lyndham’s voice was soft, almost ethereal, as she spoke with her eyes still closed. A broad grin tilted the corners of William’s mouth as he nodded.
“He’s agreeing with you, my lady.”
“He would.” Aurora laughed. “My husband always liked to be right, didn’t you, my dearest love.”
The dowager countess opened her eyes to look around her, trying to see what she couldn’t. Already Constance could tell William’s energy was fading, and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry, my lady, but he’s growing weak. I don’t think he’ll be here much longer.”
“No, William. Don’t leave me. There’s so much I want to say to you. Don’t go.” The anguish in the older woman’s voice tore at Constance’s heart.
She watched as William drew close to his wife and gently tried to brush at the tears streaming down wrinkled cheeks. The movement was done with such love and tenderness that Constance turned her head away simply because it was such a private act of adoration. Swallowing hard, she blinked her eyes rapidly, trying not to cry.
An instant later she knew the ghost was gone. A sob poured out of the dowager countess’s throat, and Constance hurried to her side, afraid the woman would collapse onto the floor. With a gentle yet firm hand, she guided the elderly woman to one of the nearby chairs. Kneeling at the woman’s feet, she rubbed Lady Lyndham’s cold hands for several seconds in an attempt to warm her.
“Forgive me, my dear, for doubting you. I’ve been disappointed so many times before, I just…” Aurora’s voice died away as she closed her eyes. With a gentle squeeze of the old woman’s hand, Constance bit back tears at the pain and sadness darkening Lady Lyndham’s face.
“I understand, my lady. It’s not easy to believe in something one can’t see, hear or touch.” Constance sighed with regret. “I wouldn’t have even acknowledged his presence at all if I hadn’t been so startled by his resemblance to Mr. Rawlings.”
“Ah yes, the likeness between the two of them was always striking. They easily passed for the brothers they were. Half-brothers that is.”
Constance stared at the woman in amazement. Once again, another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. The problem was, she wasn’t sure where it belonged. Lady Lyndham smiled at her.
“Edward was born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
“Oh, I see,” Constance murmured. The explanation made perfect sense now. In her vision, she’d witnessed William’s death, not Edward’s. But who was the older man? And the murderer’s identity? Who was he and why had he killed? She shook her head in confusion and Aurora uttered a soft laugh.
“I suppose it does seem odd, doesn’t it. The bastard included as one of the family. William and Edward were inseparable as children. They were as close as two brothers could be. Even after William and I were married, Edward remained a part of the family. In William’s mind the only thing that separated the two of them was that Edward’s mother, Maibe, was his father’s mistress.”
“What a beautiful name.”
“She was Egyptian. William’s father brought her back from Cairo with him. As I understand it, the old earl stayed with Maibe’s parents when he visited Egypt on one of his expeditions.”
“She must have loved him very much to leave her homeland.”
“I suppose. She deeply resented William, though. She thought Edward should have been the one to have the Lyndham title.” The dowager countess shrugged as her lips twisted in a bitter smile. Then with a deep sigh, she gave a small shake of her head. “Enough of the past. It’s long dead and buried. As for you, my dear, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“There is no need to do so, my lady. If it brought you some measure of peace, I’m glad,” Constance said with a smile.
“It’s eased my mind greatly, Constance. You have no idea how many times I thought William might be with me, but was never certain of it until today.”
“I’m certain he’s visited you many times, my lady. I could tell he misses and loves you very much.”
“Do you really think so?” Lady Lyndham clasped her hand in a tight grip.
“Yes, my lady. I do. ”
“He was never one to share his emotions easily. Every time I thought he was near I’d asked him for a sign it was him, but he never answered. I always thought it was my imagination. But he’s been here all this time. He’s never left me.”
The catch in the woman’s voice made Constance squeeze her hand in understanding. As if remembering something, Lady Lyndham frowned. The dowager countess cupped her chin and forced her to look directly at her.
“You mustn’t tell any of this to Lucien.” The insistence in the woman’s voice chilled her.
“But if—”
“No. He won’t believe you,” Aurora snapped fiercely. “In fact, he’ll be furious. He’ll accuse you of pandering to my hallucinations. If there’s one thing Lucien despises more than being lied to it’s spiritualists and mediums.”
Ice sluiced through her veins at the words, and she struggled not to cry out from the pain lashing through her. Why did it matter so much what Lucien believed? She didn’t want to answer the question, but the way her heart ached told her it mattered a great deal. With a nod, she rose to her feet.
“I understand, my lady. I’ll not reveal what happened here today.”
“What is it, child? You look ill.” Lady Lyndham grasped her hand. “Why, you’re as cold as winter. Is this what happens when you have contact with the other side?”
Not about to divulge the source of her chill, Constance simply nodded. Better to let the woman think it was a reaction to the ghostly encounter rather than suspect the truth. Alarmed at the direction of her thoughts, she gently withdrew her hand from Lady Lyndham’s.
“I’ll be fine, my lady. If you’ll forgive me, I should find Jamie and Imogene. I did promise to take them on a picnic.”
“Of course,” Aurora said with a puzzled note in her voice. “Thank you again, Constance. You’ve given me a peace that has eluded me for years. I can never thank you enough for that.”
Nodding, she fled the library. In the main hall, she caught the glimpse of a misty shadow near the salon, but she blocked it out. No. She didn’t want to see any more ghosts. She didn’t want any more visions. All she wanted was to be like everyone else. How many times had she expressed those thoughts to her sister Patience?
The cold stone of the hall matched the temperature of her hand as she paused to fight back tears. She was a fool to think there was any man who would care for her without being intimidated by her gift. It was too much to ask of anyone. Even Jamie. She swallowed hard. That was why she’d not told her son about her gift. Not because Graham would have disapproved.
She finally recognized the excuse for what it was. Fear had kept her from telling Jamie about her gift. Fear of losing his love and having him stare at her in horror. She blinked back tears at the realization. The usual tingling skated across the back of her neck, and she stiffened.
“No. Go away. I won’t look at you, and I won’t talk to you,” she said with quiet vehemence. “Leave me alone.”
Not even turning her head, she raced down the hall toward the kitchen. The warm aroma of baking bread drifted out into the corridor, and she stopped to wipe her cheeks dry. She had no intention of trying to explain to her son or anyone else the reasons for her tears.
Satisfied she was sufficiently poised, she forced a smile to her lips and entered the large cooking center to find Jamie and Imogene waiting impatiently for her. Grateful for something to divert her attention from the pain twisting her heart, her smile became genuine at th
e rowdy reception the two children gave her.
“Are the two of you ready for our little expedition?”
“Expedition?” Jamie exclaimed with enthusiasm. “What expedition?”
“Well I thought we’d venture past the gardens out into the pasture where you can search for Roman denarii and other artifacts.”
“Were there really Romans at the keep, mother?” Jamie’s voice held a skeptical note.
“I’m not sure about the keep, but I know they had several legions based in this area. It’s more than possible they might have dropped items to mark their stay here.”
With a wild whoop, Jamie danced about the kitchen to the amusement of Cook and the scullery maids. Imogene shook her head and rolled her eyes as if to say her companion was far too excitable. Her heart lighter than when she’d first entered the kitchen, Constance laughed as she led the two out on their great adventure.
The sun was warm as Constance sat on the edge of the large blanket Cook had packed in the picnic basket. The remains of lunch were scattered across the soft spread, and she watched Jamie leading Imogene out into a field littered with stones and rocks of all shapes and sizes. They were involved in an exuberant discussion and she smiled at the way Imogene refused to go along with whatever it was Jamie wanted to do. With a shrug of disgust, her son turned and followed Lucien’s niece off in the opposite direction. Chuckling, she shook her head. Jamie would never admit it, but he was already infatuated with Imogene.
The sound of a galloping horse pulled her attention away from the children, and she turned her head to see a lone rider approaching. Fear and hope burrowed its way through her at the thought Lucien had returned. Scrambling to her feet, she lifted her hand to her brow to shade her eyes. When she realized the rider was a stranger, her heart sank with disappointment.
The man slowed his horse to a trot, and a trickle of fear slid across her skin as he drew closer. There was something about the man she recognized as familiar, but she couldn’t place what it was. Pulling the horse to a halt, the stranger dismounted.
Short and stocky, he had the swarthy complexion of a man accustomed to being in the sun. The desert sun. The comparison struck her as odd as he removed his hat and bowed in her direction.
“Lady Westbury. At last I have the honor of meeting you.” The smoothness with which he delivered his greeting made her question the sincerity of his words.
“Do we know each other, sir?” Again fear tracked its way across her skin, leaving chill bumps in its wake. The black depths of the man’s eyes made her think of a lifeless pool of brackish water.
“I confess, we were never introduced, my lady, but I was good friends with your late husband.”
At the mention of Graham, she grew still. Something wasn’t right. How had this man found her, and why would he approach her in the middle of a field? Swallowing the uneasy feelings rising inside her, she sent the man a questioning look. He bowed slightly.
“Forgive me, my lady. My name is Malcolm Standish. I was one of the investors who funded your husband’s last expedition into Egypt.”
The man’s name made her frown. She recognized the name, but she couldn’t recall Graham ever mentioning the man. Suddenly, she remembered where she’d heard this man’s name before. Lucien had accused her of knowing a Malcolm Standish. When he’d charged her with being in collusion with the man, there had been a wild fury in his voice. Clearly Standish was a man to avoid unless she wanted to face Lucien’s anger. Even if Lucien’s fury weren’t a matter of concern, her instincts warned her to stay away from this man.
“As I’m sure you know, Mr. Standish, my husband is dead. He has been for more than four years now.”
“And I’m sorry for your loss, my lady. I should have paid my respects to you long ago. I have no excuse for such a lengthy delay.”
“Perhaps you would care to explain why you’ve sought me out now? And I’m curious as to how you knew where to find me.”
“Yes of course,” Standish said with unexpected eagerness. “Everything in due course, my lady. I’ve come here to ask for your help.”
“My help?” She glanced over her shoulder to ensure that Jamie and Imogene were still in sight. Her senses were now tingling with an edge that was growing decidedly uncomfortable.
“Precisely, my lady. I’m here to offer you whatever you ask in exchange for your assistance in finding a statue.” The man’s words heightened her discomfort and she shook her head.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure how I can help you.”
“I understand that you’re working for Lord Lyndham. The gentleman in question took something that belonged to my…my family. It’s of great sentimental value and we want to retrieve it.”
“Has it occurred to you to discuss this matter with Lord Lyndham? I’m not in any position to speak for his lordship, and he’s far from likely to listen to anything I have to say about your problem.”
“Oh I’ve approached Lyndham,” the man in front of her snarled softly, reminding her of the hyenas she’d seen in the Zoological Park in London. “The man refuses to discuss anything with me, which is why I am willing to offer you whatever you wish in exchange for your assistance in finding my statue.”
“How can it be your statue if it’s not in your possession, sir? I’ve not know the Earl of Lyndham for long, but I’m certain he isn’t a thief.”
Standish’s face contorted into a mask of hate that sent fear flying through her body with the speed of a hawk in its dive. Determined not to yield to her fear, she didn’t move as he took a step toward her.
“What you think isn’t important, but you will help me find the statue I’m looking for. I won’t allow you or anyone else to stop me from regaining what belongs to Seth.”
Still frightened, she refused to let the man bully her. “I can’t help you, Mr. Standish.”
“Oh, but you will, Lady Westbury.” The man once again imitated an angry hyena as he grabbed her by the arms and gave her a hard shake.
Familiar sensations flooded her senses as she recognized the onset of another vision. Panicked by the fact she was alone and at the mercy of the man holding her, she tried to stop the images from pulling her out of her reality. Her efforts failed, and her body went rigid as she was dragged into the shadows of a small shrine.
A fire lit the wall behind Standish, and he faced a man whose back was to her. As with her last vision, there was no sound, and she stared at the two men dressed in ancient Egyptian priest robes. In the firelight, she saw Standish accept a familiar blade from the man whose face remained a mystery. With her mind she tried to make the stranger turn to face her, but she sensed a powerful evil in the man.
Suddenly, she knew he was aware of her presence. How was that possible? Never in her visions had someone sensed her. The stranger lifted his hand and admonished her with a wag of his finger. Then with breathtaking speed, his hand closed in a fist before he opened it and threw a ball of light directly at her. For the first time in her life, she realized her visions were not places of safety. Terrified, she fought to deflect the fiery ball of light racing toward her. Hands raised, she forced herself out of the surreal plane back to reality. Standish was glaring down at her as her eyes fluttered open.
“You’ll get me that statue or you’ll be sorry, Lady Westbury. Remember what I’ve told you. I want that statue. I’m staying at The Barking Dog in the village. I’ll be looking for your message that you’ve found what I want.”
Confused, she shook her head. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t give the man what he wanted. The only statue he could possibly be referring to was the statue of Isis. Did Standish have the other statue? The one Lucien and his family had been searching for?
The pounding sound of a horse at full gallop filled her ears, and Standish released her quickly as he turned to face the oncoming rider. Even from a distance, she recognized Lucien, and a wave of re
lief washed over her. Lucien would deal with Standish.
Drained from the strength of her vision and the fear that had engulfed her, she watched with lethargic detachment as Lucien wheeled his horse to a stop and dismounted. Dazed, she saw him head toward Standish with a wild look of fury on his dark features. The scar on his face was stark white against the darkness of his skin. Without speaking a word, he stopped in front of Standish and dropped the man with a single punch to the jaw.
“I’m giving you five minutes to get off my estate, Standish. If you’re still here after that, I’ll kill you.” The quiet normalcy of Lucien’s voice made the words echo with the deadliness of a viper. It was impossible not to recognize a man close to the edge of losing control.
Getting to his feet, Standish touched his lips with his fingers. He grimaced as he examined the blood on his fingertips. With surprising speed for a man of his build, he moved toward his horse and bolted into the saddle. With a cruel smile, he nodded his head toward her.
“I appreciate your assistance, Lady Westbury.”
Appalled by the implication that she was working with the man, she took a step forward only to have Lucien block her way. Standish yanked viciously on the reins of his horse, turning the animal back toward the village. As he rode away, Constance stared up into Lucien’s implacable features.
“It seems you have a habit of lying, Lady Westbury.” The suppressed fury in his voice reminded her how much he hated being lied to.
“I have not lied to you,” she said quietly. “I’ve never met Mr. Standish before today.”
“And yet he conveniently happened to stumble across you, here on the Lyndham Estate.”
“I have no idea how the man knew where to find me, but he did. The question you should be asking me is why.”
“We both know the answer to that. The man wants the papyrus my great-grandfather brought home from Cairo almost forty years ago.”
Confused, she shook her head. “No, he didn’t mention anything about a papyrus.”
“You lie.” Lucien jerked her toward him, his voice dark with an emotion that set her senses on fire. “But God help me, I want to believe you.”