“Thank you, Melinda,” Belle said, patting the young woman’s hand. “You are a good soul. Now, to make sure none of us are harmed, tell us where you saw this ghost.”
“You are not serious?” Lord Terrance’s tone bordered on derisive. “Why encourage her in her delusion?”
Belle ignored his interruption. “Where, Melinda. Where did you see it?”
“Upstairs, my lady, on the third floor. I was changing the guest room linen on the second floor when the housekeeper asked me to dust the portraits hall. Seems some guests had gone there and complained they were dusty.” She gave Lord Terrance an apologetic glance. “It is because the servants dread that floor, my lord. Not because we are lazy.”
“Of course you are not lazy. Go on with your story.” Belle encouraged, but she had her suspicions about where the maid and ghost confrontation took place.
“Well, all went well until I reached the picture of your father, my lord. Then this shadow swooped into me.” Her shoulders slumped again as the memory brought a fresh array of tears.
“Now see what you have done,” Lord Terrance said. “She has gone off into hysterics.”
Belle stood and hurried to the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “You are not leaving me with this crying woman.”
“Felton will be here shortly, my lord,” Belle said. “Keep her calm. I must find the ghost before he ruins the ball.”
She slipped out the door to the hallway before he could protest and hurried toward the stairs.
As she climbed them, she thought about the matter and knew that having all these people in the house could have stirred the ghost’s ire. He was not the most sociable of spirits. Or had the one person whom the ghost thought a traitor come to the ball?
She stopped at her room and took the precaution of collecting Earnest. Not that he could be of much help, but he had been present the other time she looked for the ghost, and they had a partnership in the endeavor. Besides, she did not care to confront the ghost alone, and no one but her grandfather would likely come, and his health was not sufficient to confront ghosts.
With Earnest in tow, she and the hound then hurried toward the stairs.
Just as they reached them, Lord Terrance ascended from the ground floor. “There you are.” He looked stern and forbidding. “So, what you said about not talking about ghosts was a lie?”
“No lie, my lord. I said I would not speak of such things with your family, and I have not.”
“But you have not given up the notion my home is haunted?”
“Clearview is haunted. By your father.”
His head jerked back as if she had slapped him, and she said gently, “I am sorry to break the news in such a bald fashion, but it is the truth. I have seen and spoken with him on two occasions, and I have sensed him several other times. He has visited your mother every night since the day his body was brought home for burial. I have distracted her at night so that he would not bother her, but that does not change the fact that the spirit is here.”
RUFUS STARED AT Belle as each of her statements washed over him in a fresh wave of despair. He thought he loved her, but he did not even know this woman. And then the revelation of her words hit him, and his breathing constricted. This was the secret he had sensed within his family.
“You, Mama, Susie and Phillip,” he said, knowing the answer already. The familiarity between the four that was inexplicable. “This is your secret. You have all been working to rid my house of a ghost?”
“I am sorry,” she said.
“After you promised you would not involve them in your ghost stories, you broke your word.”
“No, I did not.”
She reached for him, but he stepped away. She folded her arms, as if to avoid the temptation to reach for him again. “I never once spoke of a ghost to them. Well, once, to Susie the day after I arrived, and she told me your mother was not sleeping. I told her I needed her help in distracting your mother. All we did from then on was play billiards into the small hours. A game at which your sister excels. She has fleeced us of many a coin.”
“You included Phillip in these games? A man who is a stranger to you?” That idea of their secret games burnt an acidic hole in his chest. “Yet you could not include me? Was I a joke then, between all of you? How we fooled Rufus. Leave him out of our play.”
A tender, treacherous look crept into her gaze. “It was not like that, my lord. Phillip caught me raiding the kitchen that first night. Then Susie trudged in, and we were forced to let him into our secret. It was only meant to be Lady Terrance, Susie, and me.”
“Of course,” he said. “Now I see why my mother refers to you as ‘my Belle.’ You belong to everyone but me. You trust my sister, my mother, and even my cousin, but not me. You thought me incapable of helping you. Of taking care of anyone.”
“I do trust you, Rufus.”
Now she called him by his name, when it sounded as much an insult as when his aunt called him “Terrance.”
“You have lied to me every day that you have been here,” he said. “That is not trust. Were your kisses lies as well? Did you seduce me to keep me from catching onto your game?” When she did not answer, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him. “Did you?”
“No! Rufus, I love you.”
“Hah!” He gave a harsh laugh. He moved farther away from her, unable to countenance her close presence. The memory of her grandfather’s words surfaced.
“How can you love me,” he asked her, the words tainting his mouth with poison, “when you do not know what I care about? What matters to me are truth, honesty, and acceptance, none of which, by your own admission, you have ever shown me.”
“I wanted to help your mother.” Her tearful gaze pleaded with him for understanding. “You made me promise not to speak of ghosts. How could I confide in you about my findings?”
“And what have you found?” he said in a scoffing tone.
She took a deep breath, as if preparing for a terrible disclosure. Despite her lies and betrayals, he leaned forward, wanting to hear her justifications. Damn it, I still love you.
“The ghost haunting Clearview is your father. I believe he is searching for his killer in this house, someone whom he calls a traitor.”
His mind whirled, and he could not understand what she implied. I live here and I’m the only one who is under suspicion of murdering my father. She could have heard about that rumor in London. Since there is no such thing as a ghost, did this mean she suspects that I not only killed my father but that I might also be a traitor?
“Get out.” He said the words through clenched teeth.
“I beg your pardon?” she said, looking confused.
“Leave Clearview. Do not cross my sight again. Nor contact my mother, my sister, or my cousin. They will no longer be your lackeys. And never, ever speak to me again. Have I made myself clear, Lady Belle?”
Face blanched, she stepped back.
Earnest whined and sat on the landing beside her, tail wagging, eyes beseeching.
He pointed to the hound. “And take that traitor with you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rufus had not slept a wink all night. He paced in his bedchamber, lit by a lone candle set high on the mantle. It was still pitch black outside, a condition that matched his mood and future outlook. The ball had ended hours ago.
Once news of his argument with Belle spread—it had been loud enough and the place packed with people—first his guests left, and then his friends abandoned him for the Briar Inn. They were not the only ones upset with him. The moment he had asked Belle to leave, he had wanted to retract his words.
Come sunrise, Belle, too, would depart his home, and he was endlessly rethinking letting her go. He was discovering that he did not care that she had lied to him. Or that
she believed in ghosts. Or held a low opinion of him. He was on the verge of begging her to stay.
Ellison entered then, wearing a frown that looked as if it had taken permanent hold on the man’s craggy face.
“What is it?” Rufus was in no mood to tolerate one of his servant’s harangues.
The valet held a lit candelabra, which he set on a nearby table and produced a note from his breast pocket.
Rufus took the letter and dismissed the surly valet. The missive was marked urgent on the outside with his name beneath. That precise lettering pricked an uneasy chord of alarm. He recognized that writing. A similar penmanship had lured his father to Richmond Park on the night he died.
He knew because on Rufus’s return to the London townhouse, he had learned that his father had left on an urgent, mysterious errand. He had found that scrunched up note on the study desk. The writer purported to have Rufus in custody and had threatened to murder him unless his father brought specified shipyard documents that were in his custody.
Rufus could not believe his father was being blackmailed over a commercial enterprise, and someone had used Rufus as bait. He had raced to the meeting place to assure his father he was safe. He arrived too late, and a moment later, a bow street runner found him crouched over his father’s lifeless body.
The next morning, Rufus received the summons from the Regent. As the son of an earl, Rufus had not expected to be hauled into gaol despite his suspicious presence at the crime scene or the incriminating blood on his gloves. But neither had he expected a royal summons about the case the very next morning.
Troubled, and deep in grief, he had brought the letter as proof that a villain was at play in his father’s murder. That evidence had gained him six months leniency in which to clear his name, else he might have been clapped into irons and thrown into prison that very day.
Rufus moved toward the lit candle and ripped open this newest missive, expecting another trap.
My lord,
Come to the southern edge of the mere. Take the old mill road. Come alone. I have news that is only for your ears. No one must know we are to meet.
Your obedient servant,
Mr. MacBride
Rufus would have bet his last shilling that Mr. MacBride had not penned this note because there was not a Gaelic phrase in sight.
Rufus took the candle to his writing desk and sat to pen his own gambit in this murderous game of cat and mouse. This puzzle had been difficult to piece together, none of it making sense individually, but a grander picture was forming in his mind. For if the Regent was interested in these events, then treason must somehow be at the root of it.
Rufus gambled that whatever this killer was after, he had not yet obtained it despite committing two murders, nay three—his father, Darby, and most recently, Brindle. And the coincidental timing of Darby’s death, which, according to Phillip, had occurred in London the day before Rufus’s father was killed, added the late blacksmith as a vital piece in this puzzle box.
So he wrote that he had his father’s shipyard documents, and if “Mr. MacBride” wished to ever lay hands on them, he had better come to Clearview at ten this morning, else those documents would be surrendered to the Crown.
He surmised that whoever used the hapless baker as a pawn, could most easily be contacted at the MacBride residence, and he rang for Ellison to hand-deliver his letter.
AN HOUR BEFORE ten, Rufus, his nerves on edge, gazed out his tall study windows onto the courtyard where Belle and her grandfather prepared to depart Clearview. The dog barked in protest. For once, Rufus agreed.
He wanted to lean out the window and shout, Belle, please stay. But pride, and a looming battle with his father’s killer, prevented the plea from escaping.
A footman carried a large birdcage to the carriage. Inside those bars, an owl fluttered its wings. No longer sporting bandages, the bird looked ready to take flight.
Belle must have taken good care of it for the bird to heal so quickly. He had seen it often enough, whenever he carried her while her ankle mended, but he had been too focused on controlling his desire to crawl into her bed, so he had never asked after the recovering bird.
Earnest jumped inside the conveyance last, the door shut, and the vehicle lumbered along the long drive.
Rufus squashed the urge to chase after them and turned away from the window.
An emptiness born of their departure swept into Clearview, an ill wind that stole into his study and settled in his heart like a weighty lump of iron. He shrugged to dislodge his sorrow. Now was not the time to become mired in despair. There would be time enough for that later.
Today, he had a murderer to catch.
He rang for Felton.
The butler entered, his face a mask of disapproval. Once rumor had spread among his servants that their master had ordered Belle to leave his home—likely from Ellison, who had an earhole for any hint of gossip—every servant had apparently been issued one of those masks. “Yes, my lord?”
“I expect a visitor this morning. See that he or she is shown to the third floor drawing room.”
That should not only keep him far enough away from eavesdroppers, but it should keep his family and servants from being harmed by stray shots.
For a moment, surprise shifted his butler’s mask, but then he readjusted it into place. “I shall order a maid to ready the room.”
Rufus nodded his dismissal, and the butler bowed and retreated.
Before the old retainer shut the door, Rufus said, “Felton.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I shall count on you to see that my guest and I are not disturbed.”
Now worry wreathed Felton’s face. Years of service, however, prevented him questioning his master. He obediently acknowledged the order and left.
Rufus waited until the upstairs room was ready, and then he climbed to the third floor. Upon reaching his destination, he looked about.
Candles blazed on the mantle and side tables. The room sported a few high-backed chairs positioned against the walls and a settee and armchairs by the hearth where a healthy fire blazed. Sparks spit, and coal shifted.
He pulled out the letter he had received this morning and read it one last time. Then he balled the paper in his fist and tossed the crumpled sheet into the fire. It crackled and burst into flames. Taking out his father’s watch, Rufus checked the time. The games were about to begin. He hoped that this appointment with a traitor would end in the capture of his father’s murderer and not in Rufus’s demise.
“GRANDPAPA,” BELLE said, as the carriage reached the village outskirts, “may we stop at the Briar Inn?”
He was seated across from her and looked at her in surprise, his faded version of her violet eyes catching and holding her gaze. “I thought you could not wait another moment to depart Terrance Village, my dear. Did we not leave a note for the countess instead of waiting for her to rise so we could leave quicker?”
She stared out the window with what felt like a lump of coal constricting her throat. The trees and homes blurred.
“Belle, my dearest child,” her grandfather said, “will you not tell me what has upset you? Was it Lord Terrance?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“Yesterday, he mentioned he had only honorable intentions toward you. I took that to mean he planned to propose.”
Belle stared at him, startled. Then Rufus did love her. She turned to look out the window again and bit her scrunched up handkerchief to keep from crying out.
No, he had loved her. In the past tense.
She had ruined everything by going on about the ghost. Even now she could see his hurt expression when he realized she had lied. She hid her face, for her tears would not cease.
“My lady.” Mendal sounded teary, too. “A man in love with you is nothin
g to cry about. How I wish you had a mama to talk to at times like these.”
“Mendal, why must you bring that up now?” Belle asked and cried even harder.
“Now, now.” Her grandfather patted her knee. “If you would but tell us what ails you, we might be able to be of aid.”
“All I want, Grandpapa, is a chance to release Lady Sefton,” she said between gulping sobs. “The owl is well enough to be set free. I do not want anything caged around me ever again. It is too cruel and unkind.”
“But the cage is for the bird’s safety, my lady,” her maid said. “It healed quicker because it was safe inside the bars.”
“Love is a cage,” she said in a muffled voice. “It seeks to trap you and keep you confined, never allowing you to soar.”
“You have it backwards, Belle, my dear,” her grandfather said. “Love does not seek to tie you down but to allow you to be everything you were meant to be. And now I see where our problem lies. Lord Terrance does not believe in your talent. He told me as much.”
When she did not reply, he nodded as if in understanding. “I hinted to him yesterday that he did not know you as he should. You are correct, child. It is best that we leave. I should never have asked you to come to Clearview. This is my fault.”
“No, Grandpapa,” Belle said. “Please do not say that. I came because I wished to be of help. Not that I have done much good at Clearview. I did not discharge the ghost, and if anything, I have turned one family member against the other and caused more disruption rather than bringing harmony into his home. Lord Terrance is right to send me away.”
“Ahh,” he said.
They traveled in silence from then on until the carriage reached the inn’s courtyard.
Belle asked her grandfather to procure a private parlor as it might take her a while to settle the bird in the stables where it would find ample rodents to hunt until the winter weather had passed. She wanted to ensure the owl could fly properly and find a place to perch away from harm.
Mendal wanted to come with her, but Belle sent her after the marquess, saying she wished to do this alone. “I will be fine, Mendal. See to Grandpapa’s needs.”
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