There was a deep silence. I bit my lip. I hoped I hadn’t hurt his feelings, despite the fact that he had just hurt mine. I didn’t know how ghosts reacted to being told they were dead. I mean, he did know this, didn’t he?
“I, I’m sorry,” I said, trying for a more conciliatory tone. “I know this estate means—meant—a lot to you, but my father told me to look after it now. I can’t just let some man...”
“SOME MAN? HANCOCK ISN’T JUST SOME MAN. HE IS A MAN WHO KNOWS WHAT HE IS DOING. YOU LEAVE HIM TO RUN THIS ESTATE!”
“Even if I asked, I don’t know that he would agree to stay,” I argued.
“TRY!”
I sighed. “Very well, but what do I do if he doesn’t agree to stay, or if he tells me that he’ll stay only if I agree to leave everything to him?”
“THEN YOU LEAVE EVERYTHING TO HIM! TELL HIM... tell him that I would be very disappointed if he deserted me now.” The ghost’s voice lowered to an ordinary range. I still couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but at least he wasn’t yelling at me anymore.
“I know that he would do anything for you,” I said, honestly. “He told me how much he admired you for dedicating your free time from school to learning how the estate was run.”
“He probably hated my interference,” the ghost of Lord Marcus admitted.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. The way he said this with such a forlorn expression in his voice, just made me laugh and feel much better. “So, you don’t just think it’s because I’m young and female?” I asked.
“Possibly, but I was young when I tried to take over. I’m sure your age has nothing to do with it.”
“But the fact that I’m female…” I said, hoping he’d fill in my silence with denial.
“I worked with him for many years, I know Hancock isn’t someone who takes direction very well,” he said, confirming my fear.
It was that I was female. My anger spiked, but I let it go quickly. Mr. Hancock’s behavior was upsetting, but it shouldn’t surprise me. My mother had prepared me too well for this.
“I eventually found the easiest way to deal with him was to simply let him do what he felt was best,” the ghost continued with such resignation in his voice that I wanted to laugh again. “I made the mistake of offering suggestions a few times and then had to deal with his bad humor for weeks afterwards.”
“Oh dear! I am certainly going to have to be very careful not to step on his toes. That is just the sort of thing I enjoy doing most—making suggestions, seeing how things can be done more efficiently.”
“Oh, no. Don’t do it. You’ll lose him for sure. And you honestly don’t want to do that. There isn’t a better man in all of England to run this estate. You just leave it to Hancock.”
“Very well, my lord,” I sighed. I was getting tired. I hadn’t slept well for the past few nights, and now it was beginning to catch up to me. “May we speak on this some more tomorrow night?” I asked, stifling a yawn.
There was a pause. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
“Good night, Lord Marcus,” I said quietly.
“Good night, Miss Grace.”
The happy jig I danced before climbing into bed that night didn’t nearly reflect my joy in finally having a real conversation with my ghost.
My ghost? Oh dear, where did that come from?
Chapter Seven
Thoughts of my mother drove me to visit my neighbor the following day.
I waited until what I thought would be a proper time and then drove myself over to Hollingshead, just a mile to the north. As I drove, I had visions of Mrs. Fotheringay-Phipps, my brother-in-law’s mother. I’d met her at my sister’s wedding nearly two years ago. She had immediately taken me and Thalia under her wing, taking us out shopping and for drives in the park. She had been so kind and understanding of our unfortunate situation, being without our mother, and with a father who knew so little of what was needed by young girls on the verge of womanhood.
Despite the fact that Mrs. Fotheringay-Phipps had never had daughters of her own—my brother-in-law was her only child—she knew just what we needed and even reveled in having us with her to engage in all of these female pursuits. The fact that we all got along so well helped a great deal as well, I’m sure.
With these happy memories in mind, I rapped on the door and presented myself to Lady Hollingsworth. The woman’s mouth pinched with displeasure as I was shown into her private drawing room. The smell of strong perfume weighed on me the moment I walked into the room.
Lady Hollingsworth was an older lady, as I had hoped, dressed in deep purple as was proper for a woman of her age. She sat in a straight-backed chair across from the woman whose wheels I had nearly grazed with my gig the other day in town.
I stopped to curtsey as I approached the women. The younger woman stood and returned my salute. She looked as if she could have stepped straight from the pages of La Belle Assemblée, her dress and coiffure absolutely perfect in every way. Lady Hollingsworth merely nodded her head regally.
“I am Aglaia Grace. I’m living next door at Marshfield,” I told them.
Silence greeted my announcement.
“My father, Lord Pemberton-Howe, recently inherited the estate from the Bolingbrooks,” I explained further, hoping that would ease some of the tension in the room.
“And your father sees fit to send you, sans maid or companion, to us?” Lady Hollingsworth asked, her eyes hard as nails as she stared at me.
I’m afraid my mouth might have dropped open at her harsh words. “He…he did not send me to you, my lady. I came to introduce myself, seeing as how we are neighbors. I thought...”
“You thought? You thought what, Miss? You thought that I would allow you to barge into my home? Assault me with your presence? You thought that you would be so bold as to pay a visit to someone you have never met, someone to whom you have not been properly introduced? Where are your manners, girl? Who taught you how to behave?” Her words snapped at me like the jaws of a vicious dog.
I didn’t know what to say. Indeed, what could I say?
“Your father is Lord Pemberton-Howe?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Never heard of him,” she announced with a lift of her perfectly aristocratic nose, as if she smelled something particularly awful. She turned toward the pretty younger woman. “Have you, Constance?”
The young woman lifted her chin in imitation of her mother, but hers was too weak, her cheeks too round for the motion to have the same impact. “No, I haven’t, Mama.”
Lady Hollingsworth turned back to me. “And where is this father of yours?”
“In London, my lady,” I answered, the volume of my voice now reflecting my insecurity.
“London? And you are here?” the lady asked.
“Yes, ma’am. He sent me here to—”
“And you abandoned your companion to go traipsing about the countryside on your own?”
I started to say that I didn’t have a companion but thought better of it. She already had a very low opinion of me and my father. I didn’t want to lower it further.
“Well, your father shall certainly be hearing from me,” she said. “Now, be off with you. If we are properly introduced at some later date, I will speak with you then. At this time, however, I see no call to waste any more of my time with one such as you.” She then turned back to her daughter, clearly dismissing me without a thought.
I had no choice but to leave, my heart caught in my throat.
My hands were shaking all the way home. I had never in my entire life been so mortified. And she said she was going to write to my father! What was I to do? Introducing myself to people inappropriately was precisely what got me sent to this godforsaken place to begin with.
It took all of my willpower to keep my head up and my tears in check until I reached the calming safety of the study. It was there that I finally took a deep breath.
Dashing away the few tears that leaked unbidden from my eyes, I reached for a p
iece of paper and pen. I had to write to Rose and ask her to intervene with my father for me. If that woman carried through with her threat to write to him, I would never be allowed to leave Marshfield!
After my humiliation of the morning, it was easy as pie to swallow my pride and seek out Mr. Hancock that afternoon.
“Mr. Hancock, I wish to apologize for my ill-tempered words last night at dinner,” I began after cornering him in his office.
He had stood upon my entering the room and now glanced down at his desk. It was remarkably clean. So clean, I worried that he’d already begun the process of leaving. Aside from the estate books, which we had looked through the day before, the only other thing on his desk was an ominous-looking white envelope. I dreaded what might be in it. It was that on which his eyes rested now.
“I realize that I asked a great many questions yesterday in my attempt to understand the workings of the estate, but truly, I have no intention of taking over the running of it.” I swallowed even more of that pride. “I did tell you yesterday that I was going to be returning to London soon for my presentation into society, did I not?” I gave him my best sweet smile.
He knitted his eyebrows, clearly trying to remember whether I’d told him this or not.
“Honestly, I can’t wait to get back to the city! I’m sure you know how every girl dreams of her come-out. Well,” I gave a little shrug, “I’m afraid I am no different. I assure you, all too soon, I’ll be gone, and my father will be completely relying on you to see to the smooth running of this estate. Goodness only knows if and when I’ll ever return.” I lowered my eyes and attempted to look both demure and perplexed at the same time. “Who knows if or when I’ll ever find a husband or if he’ll be willing to return here with me?” I raised my eyes again and finished with, “And naturally, he’ll have his own estate where we’ll probably live, so...”
“I understand, Miss,” Mr. Hancock said finally. With a little lift of his lips, he said, “Ye want me to stay and ye will not interfere with my running of the estate. Is that right?”
With a sigh of relief, I said, “Yes! And I promise, I will do my utmost to keep out of your way while I’m here,” I added for good measure, while crossing my fingers together.
He nodded. “Very well, Miss Grace. I will stay.”
I clapped my hands together and gave him my brightest smile. “Thank you!”
A knock sounded on the door, bringing my triumph up short. “The vicar is here to see ye, Miss,” Mrs. Barker said, entering the room.
“The vicar? Oh, how nice. Please show him into the drawing room, Mrs. Barker, I will be there momentarily.”
My mind was already turning from one problem to the next.
The vicar! Wouldn’t that be the exact person I should speak with about my ghost? Surely, he would know better than anyone how to encourage a soul to seek its eternal rest.
Mr. Hancock took advantage of this distraction. Giving me a small bow, he said, “I’ll get back to work, then, Miss.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Hancock,” I said, already moving toward the door.
I walked as quickly as I could back to the house. Before entering the drawing room, I smoothed down the demure, pale blue morning dress that I had chosen in order to make a good impression on the neighbor. No, not even Lady Hollingsworth would blink an eye at my choice of clothing.
I made sure my hair hadn’t fallen out of the simple chignon I had twisted it into that morning and then stepped into the newly cleaned, formal drawing room. “Vicar, good afternoon! What a pleasant surprise this is!” I exclaimed as I entered the room.
I had to thank Mrs. Barker later. She had not only removed all the Holland covers from the furniture and dusted, she had also aired out the room so that one would never have known that it had been closed for the past six months. The only thing missing, I noted, were fresh flowers. I would have to look into that on my next foray into the garden. Surely there had to be some there I could bring in to make the house more cheerful.
A tall, thin man with a long, sad face stood at my entrance. He was dressed in black, his white neckcloth standing out in bold contrast to the rest of his clothing. His forehead seemed to be permanently creased with worry lines.
“I’m Aglaia Grace,” I said with a curtsey. “I’m so glad to meet you.”
The man smiled a thin, almost consoling smile. “Miss Grace, it is a pleasure. I’m Isaiah Collier, the local vicar.”
I indicated the sofa behind him. “Please, do sit down, Mr. Collier.” I seated myself on the chair opposite. “I am actually very glad that you came to visit today.”
“Really?” He raised grisly eyebrows in my direction.
“Yes. In fact, I was planning on calling on you tomorrow, but you have saved me the trip.”
He nodded for me to continue. “You see... well.” I laughed, a little unsure of how stupid I was about to sound. I plowed on ahead, regardless; it seemed to be a day for making an idiot of myself. “Perhaps you may have heard about the ghost who resides here at Marshfield?” I asked, trying to make it sound like an innocent question.
“Yes. In fact, that is why I called upon you today.”
“Oh, very good!” I clasped my hands in my lap.
“I would have come earlier, only I was certain that you would have left by now as everyone else has. Only the Barkers have managed to stay in the house, and frankly, I’m not sure how they do.”
“I suppose we don’t scare very easily.” I smiled at him.
“Clearly not. But I did want to warn you. I don’t believe it is safe for you to be here, Miss Grace.”
I nearly laughed at the dire warning in his voice but held it back. “Safe? I don’t see how it could not be safe. We are talking about a ghost, Mr. Collier.”
“Yes, Miss Grace. A ghost, who when he was last seen alive, was not entirely in his right mind.”
Now that stopped me. “What do you mean?”
“Ah, I see that you are not aware of the circumstances that led to Lord Marcus’ death,” he said, sitting back a little.
“I heard that he went to America. I was given to understand that he went to fetch his brother? And that he never returned.”
“Yes. That’s right. He went to rescue his older brother, Lord Peter, er, Bolingbrook, who was captured by the red Indians. My own son, Henry, was the one who had the unfortunate task of informing Lord Marcus of his brother’s fate, having just barely escaped with his own life.”
“Your son was there as well? In America?”
“Yes, yes. But it was Lord Peter’s own folly that got him captured. Lord Marcus went to rescue him, and well, I’m afraid that neither one of them returned.”
“Are you certain that they didn’t just decide to stay?” I asked.
“Lord Marcus would not have done so. He had”—the vicar paused to consider his words—“interests here. No. If he could have returned, he would have, most certainly.”
“Oh.” I expected he meant the estate, and after speaking with Lord Marcus’ ghost the previous night, it was clear he held a strong connection.
“Yes, exactly right, my dear. We tried to convince Lord Marcus not to go. We knew it would be dangerous. But he was adamant.” He paused. “He was, as I said before, not entirely in his right mind.”
“Do you think that that might be what is keeping him here now?”
The vicar thought about this for a minute. Finally, he gave me a sad smile and a small shrug of his shoulders. “It very well may be. Neither the body of Lord Marcus nor Lord Bolingbrook was ever returned. We have no idea what might have happened to them.”
“So, that could explain his moans and the nights he spends crying,” I said, thinking out loud.
“It is a very sad thing to go after someone and then... Well, you understand, I’m sure. I will not tax you with this unhappy subject any further.”
“Yes. Thank you, Vicar.”
“I do feel it to be my responsibility, however, to ask if Lord Pemberton-Howe is awar
e of the state of things here?”
If he was, it wasn’t because I had told him, I thought to myself. I was not entirely certain he would do anything, or insist that I leave, however. I hesitated in my answer.
“I see,” he said, misconstruing my silence. “Will you consider telling him?”
“I don’t think that will be necessary. My father is a man of science and most likely doesn’t believe in ghosts. Besides, I believe that I can do something here,” I said.
“I’m certain he wouldn’t want you to be in a dangerous situation, whether he believed or not,” Mr. Collier said. “But what is it you think you can do?”
“I don’t know. Help him, somehow.”
He gave me a little smile but shook his head. “The ghost? I’m afraid he’s past that now, Miss Grace, but it shows what a kind heart you have to even think of doing such a thing.”
“But I have...”
“Miss Grace, I seriously believe you should leave Marshfield as soon as possible.” He stood up to go.
I, too, stood up to see him out. “Thank you so much for coming, Vicar.”
He shook his head sadly. “If you need anything at...”
“GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! HOW DARE YOU COME HERE, YOU GODDAMNED HYPOCRITE!”
The voice came from nowhere and everywhere all at once, rebounding off the walls.
The vicar turned stark white, clasping his hands together over his chest. I feared he was about to have an apoplexy and grabbed on to his shoulder, steadying the man as he swayed where he stood.
He trembled under my hand and then tore away from me to stumble toward the drawing room door.
“LEAVE MY HOUSE NOW AND NEVER COME BACK!”
“Lord Marcus, stop! Please, stop!” I called back, following the vicar out of the room.
The man looked at me as if I had lost my mind.
My Lord Ghost Page 6