The Haunting of Grey Cliffs

by Nina Coombs Pykare

  Robert gave me a startled glance and I perceived that I had not succeeded in hiding my secret. But I did not care. I loved my husband. And he loved me. Soon he would tell me so.

  Uncle Phillip made an indelicate sound, glanced quickly at me, and smiled sheepishly. Cousin Julia tittered. "So you're going to dine with us tonight, Edward."

  Edward gave her a dry look. "I believe that is my custom."

  Robert smirked at me. "My dear brother believes in custom," he said. "As you'll soon discover."

  To my surprise Edward's face began to turn crimson. He appeared to struggle with his feelings for a moment, then he burst forth with, "That will be enough! Quite enough!"

  But Robert would not be quieted. "Just a quirk of fate," he said with a sneer, "that’s all that kept me from being the earl. You were born first, that's all." He smiled and a shiver slithered down my backbone. "Another quirk is all it would take, a little accident, of one sort or another—and the earldom would be mine."

  I gasped at such terrible effrontery, but no one even noticed. They were all staring at Robert.

  Finally Cousin Julia tittered again, breaking the tension that hung so heavily in the room. "Don't mind him," she said with a knowing glance at me. "Robert's just mad 'cause he can't get his money till quarter day."

  "I could." Robert glared at his brother. "But Edward refuses to give it to me."

  Edward's face was still crimson, his jaw grimly taut. I reached out to touch his sleeve. His expression didn't lighten but when his gaze met mine, he swallowed several times and then said in a voice whose calmness belied the grimness of his face, "The terms of Robert's allowance are not mine. They are my father's terms. He made his wishes known—and I abide by them."

  "Of course you do," Robert said. "Because you're a stickler after propriety."

  Under the circumstances, I thought that barb extremely unfair. Robert must know what Edward's wife had done to him. How could he treat his brother so cruelly, how could he remind him of that disgraceful episode?

  "You are right," Edward replied caustically. "I am. Of course, propriety has never been of much concern to you, so I suppose I cannot expect you to think of it. But I warn you."

  He turned the full force of his frown on his brother. To his credit, Robert did not cringe. For a moment I wondered how I would have reacted had Edward turned such a scornful look on me. I decided I wished never to find out.

  "I warn you," Edward repeated. 'There will be no more scandal around our name in this village. If you cause any scandal, any talk, you will find that even quarter day does not arrive for you."

  Robert stiffened. "You wouldn't! You can't!"

  Edward shrugged. "I would. And I can. And you had best believe me."

  "Oh, I believe you." Robert scowled. "And now, if you're through with your pious pronouncements, I'll be off to search for better company."

  Edward did not rise to this bait. He seemed to have taken his temper in hand. "As you wish. Only remember what I have told you."

  Robert shot his cuffs and ostentatiously admired the lace that edged them. Then he gave me that lazy, rakish grin and sauntered out without another word.

  I looked at Edward. I was worried about my husband. Such anger couldn't be good for him. And with the taint of madness hanging over the family ... I tried to push such thoughts from my mind. Edward was a good man. He loved his son. He let his brother's bastards live in the castle. He was gentle to me.

  I took my husband's hand. "Come," I said. "Let's have our dinner."

  * * * *

  But our dinner was not to be peaceful. We were barely into the first course when Cousin Julia looked up from her mountainously full plate and said, "I think Friday will be a good night."

  "A good night for what?" I inquired.

  "For our séance."

  My fork almost fell from my suddenly numb fingers. "Séance?" I repeated, staring at her.

  "Yes. Haven't you someone you wish to communicate with?"

  My thoughts flew to Jeremy, my dear departed Jeremy. Though I knew such a wish was futile, how I wanted to speak to him. "No," I said. "No one." But I heard the longing in my voice.

  Cousin Julia looked at me, her eyes wide. "There must be someone."

  Edward looked up from his plate. "Cousin Julia," he said sharply. 'That will be enough. If Hester says there is no one she wishes to speak to, then there is no one."

  Cousin Julia nodded, but her beady little eyes gleamed, and I knew there was more she wished to say to me, only Edward's frowning presence prevented her.

  "I don't know why you're so unbelieving," she whined. "Everyone knows that the spirits are about. We just need the right methods to contact them."

  Uncle Phillip snorted and gave her his usual skeptical look. "The dead don't want the likes of you bothering them. The dead want to be left in peace."

  For once Uncle Phillip made a good deal of sense. But Cousin Julia cast him a withering look. "I don't believe I've seen the devil lurking around any corners lately," she said with that irritating titter. "So it doesn't look like you've been all that successful at reaching him."

  Uncle Phillip frowned. "Old Lucifer's a busy chap. He can't always be bothered to answer a summons."

  "Perhaps—"

  Edward slammed down his goblet so hard that wine splashed out on the table. "That will be enough!" he declared. "If you can't discuss ordinary, normal events, then don't converse at all. I'm sick to death of this petty battle between the two of you. Just as I'm sick of the peculiar beliefs you try to foist on me."

  I was sick of it all, too, but I was even more shaken by the vehemence of my husband's remarks. Edward's temper—the temper I had hoped did not often make itself known—seemed to be easily aroused, seemed almost to be waiting to be aroused. And that made me definitely uneasy.

  But the rest of the meal passed in silence. Cousin Julia piled her plate high and emptied it—not once but three separate times. Uncle Phillip, too, ate heartily, though not the huge quantities Cousin Julia favored. Finally she pushed back her chair. "Excuse me," she murmured, darting a glance at Edward.

  He nodded, his expression still grim.

  Cousin Julia turned her gleaming eyes on me. "Would you care to walk with me a little?" she asked, her tone wheedling. Actually, I did not want to leave Edward's company. But Cousin Julia looked so woebegone, and the woman was alone in the world. She had no one except these relatives who barely tolerated her. So I, who was newly come to love and its joys, felt a wave of compassion roll over me.

  "Yes, of course," I replied.

  Cousin Julia smiled. "Shall we walk in the gallery?"

  I had not yet been to the gallery so I nodded. She gathered her rose skirts about her like some huge pink ship about to set sail and started down the hall. I glanced at Edward, but he seemed intent on his food and did not respond to me.

  Swallowing a sigh, I set out after Cousin Julia. I was much afraid I knew why she wanted me to walk with her, but perhaps I was wrong. "So," I said as we approached the gallery where the pictures of Edward's ancestors hung. "It's pleasant to walk after dinner, isn't it?"

  Cousin Julia snorted. "I don't like walking," she said directly. "Never did. Never will. I just wanted a chance to talk to you." She wrinkled her nose. "Edward is so fierce about my work with the spirits." She sighed heavily. "I can't understand why he doesn't want to talk to his dear departed papa. I should think he'd be eager."

  She looked genuinely perplexed and I felt the time had come to declare myself. "Cousin Julia, Edward does not believe he can talk to his papa. Neither do I. In fact," I looked at her sternly, "it seems to me that trying to talk to the dead borders on sacrilege."

  Cousin Julia's mouth rounded into a protesting 0. "Indeed, it doesn't. Why, some of the best people talk to the dead! I assure you, it's quite the thing to do."

  She was so confident, so sure of herself and her beliefs, that I felt my convictions shaken. But only slightly. Much as I might wish to speak to Jeremy once more
, I could not wish for a world in which the souls of the departed must hover around the earth, hoping for a chance to speak to those left behind.

  Jeremy was gone. I could not bring him back—but I wanted him to be at peace. I would remember that.

  'This is the old earl's wife." Cousin Julia paused before a painting. "A beautiful woman, but out of her element here in this gloomy place."

  I looked at the portrait. Edward's mother had indeed been a beautiful woman, with that warm golden beauty that seems to light a room. My heart skipped a beat. What was it Edward had said about Royale? That she was all sparkle and light. Like his mother, it seemed—at least superficially.

  I sighed and moved on. I would never be fair, never have that warm golden glow that turned men's heads, that made them long to possess such ethereal beauty.

  "And this is the old earl."

  I stopped, rooted in place. The picture of Edward's father needed no introduction. The resemblance was uncanny, so much so that I almost expected the man in the portrait to speak to me in Edward's deep tones.

  I studied the picture closely and, as I did, I detected some differences. The man in the portrait had dark eyes like Edward's, but they were even colder, even harder than my husband's. I could not imagine those eyes warming with love, or even passion, though Edward had said his father was a man who much enjoyed the company of women.

  The portrait seemed to hold my eyes. I knew Cousin Julia was staring at me, but I could not turn and meet her gaze.

  "He was quite a man," she said, her voice full of more emotion than I had yet heard in it. "He had his faults, of course." She sniffled. "But he would never, never have taken his own life. I knew the man, knew him from childhood." Her voice turned grim. "He never ever gave up anything that was his. Not anything. He would not voluntarily give up his life."

  Standing there, mesmerized by the eyes of the man in the portrait, I felt Cousin Julia was right. This hard, determined man had possessed great power. He had possessed power and he had reveled in it. He would not lightly have given it up.

  I swallowed my sigh. In my bones I feared she was right. The former earl had not met death by his own hand. Someone had murdered him! And that someone was most probably still living in the castle.

  * * * *

  Cousin Julia and I concluded our walk. I did not allow her to manipulate me into attending her séance. I knew Edward would disapprove of such a thing, but that was not the whole of it. I did not approve myself and so I saw no reason to go against my husband's expressed wishes.

  We retired to my chamber early. He held me close for a moment, kissed me lightly, and said, "Good night, Hester." Then he was gone, through the adjoining door into his room.

  And my room turned suddenly cold. I shivered and poked up the fire, but it did no good. I was chilled through and through, but not because of the cold. It was disappointment that made my flesh go clammy. Disappointment—and fear.

  I didn't know exactly what I feared. But after I summoned Betty to help me prepare for bed, I sat before the dressing table, brushing my hair and wishing that I could be fair and sparkling, even hard as diamonds, if that was what my husband wanted.

  But I knew I could not. Though I could be raised to ire when the fate of innocent children was involved, mine was a quiet nature, and, as he had said, peaceful. At least generally.

  Feeling anything but peaceful, I threw down the brush and climbed into the big bed. But I left some candles burning. I wished for no more visits from clammy-handed ghosts.

  Then I lay, staring up into the gloom, while my mind raced madly. If someone had murdered the old earl—and it certainly appeared that someone had—then why did they do it? What did they hope to profit from it?

  In my mind I considered the inhabitants of the castle. Cousin Julia's penchant for spirits was unsettling, but she had seemed to feel genuine grief that the old earl was gone. And I did not see how she could have overcome the man or moved his body so as to hang from the chandelier.

  Uncle Phillip's strange longing to see the devil face-to-face hardly made him a sane and sober citizen, but he was such a little stick of a man. I did not see how he could have moved the earl either.

  I was not certain either of them was above murder, given the right circumstances, and that certainty had a chilling effect on me. But I simply could not see how either could have achieved the final position in which the old earl was found.

  Now, Robert—that was different. Robert was a big man, hale and hardy. He could have overcome his father, could have arranged the whole thing to look like suicide. He had the most apparent motive. He'd been denied the earldom and he felt angry. Yes, Robert was the most likely person to have—

  My heart almost stopped. I had left someone out of my reckoning. My husband, my husband who had succeeded to the earldom on the death of his father. My husband who had confessed to me that he hated that very father.

  My head began to pound and my mouth went dry. Had I married a murderer? Could I now be carrying the unborn child of a madman?

  I began to shiver in earnest then, mad, uncontrollable tremors that shook my body. I tried to get a grip on myself. It could not be. I could not have made such a horrible mistake.

  I set myself to controlling my shaking body. I set my mind to calling up memories—tender, loving memories of Edward. Holding me, kissing me, loving me. Could a murderer have behaved like that? No, no, I decided. I would not believe such an evil thing of my husband.

  It must have been Robert. I would look into the matter. I would ask questions. After all, I had that right. I would find out who had done this horrible thing and bring him to justice. Then I would be free to love my husband. And the child to come. Our child.

  Chapter Ten

  The days passed. My new gowns arrived, rich, beautiful gowns befitting a countess. I wore them only to dinner.

  Each day I spent time with the boys, teaching them lessons, but also trying to bring them to regard each other as friends. With the lessons, I had some success. With the friendship, I had none.

  Though Ned and the twins both seemed to regard me in a friendly light, they were still suspicious and standoffish with each other. But I did not despair. I knew such things took time and I did feel that my presence had at least brought about an armed truce.

  I spent my free time searching for the secret passageways and asking the servants what I hoped were subtle questions about the castle and its inhabitants, especially the former earl.

  I did not find the passageways and I grew more and more convinced that if they existed the servants knew nothing of them. But when I began to talk about the inhabitants of the castle, it was a different story. Every servant had some tale to relate, many about the old earl.

  But, though they would talk, telling me stories about him, I sensed that there was more they weren't saying. And really the only new thing I learned was the disquieting information that the "old one," as they called him, had had quite a temper. This piece of news was hardly encouraging, coming as it did after the exhibitions of my husband's temper that I had witnessed.

  But temper needn't mean madness—or murder. I told myself so repeatedly. And I believed it. Because in spite of all of my fears and uneasiness, my love for my husband was growing. Every day I seemed to love him more than I had the day before. It was not gratitude that made my body grow warm when I saw his beloved face and form, but something that went far deeper.

  So things continued through the damp autumn. There was still no child growing of our love, but I was not unduly concerned about that. I felt deep in my soul that when the time was right, the child would be conceived.

  One late November day, I was in the kitchen with Cook, discussing what would be planted in the kitchen garden come spring. And, perhaps because the thought just occurred to her, or perhaps because I had before evinced an interest in the previous earl, she began to tell me about the foods he liked.

  "He were a man of definite tastes," she pronounced, slapping a handful of bread
dough on the board. Her strong fingers kneaded in time to her words. "He liked his green onions, fresh from the garden. And his potatoes sprinkled with dill, just so."

  She frowned. "Why, one day he threw a fit just 'cause we forgot the dill. He had such a temper. Threw those potatoes right against the wall—dish and all! Lord, what a mess!"

  She nodded. "But his favorite dish was anise pudding." She wrinkled her nose. "It ain't to my taste, too bitter and all, but the old earl, he loved it. Had it the night he—"

  Looking up from her kneading, Cook stopped abruptly in midsentence. Her eyes went round and I realized that someone stood in the doorway behind me, someone Cook didn't want to overhear her. But from the look on her face it was too late.

  "Go on," Robert said abruptly. "Tell her the whole thing. He ate anise pudding the night he died."

  Robert! If it was Robert Cook was afraid of, then maybe—

  I turned and my heart sank. Edward stood beside his brother, his face grim. "That will be enough," he said, his voice cold. "You are not to discuss my father. Not at all. Is that clear?"

  Cook bowed her head, her hands moving rhythmically in the dough. "Yes, milord. I won't, milord."

  Robert laughed, a harsh sound, grating to the ears. "That's it," he said. "Play the heavy-handed lord." He turned a dazzling smile on me. "Keep it up and you'll soon drive Hester here away."

  I knew my husband's various expressions, and I thought I glimpsed a shadow of doubt flit quickly across his face. Though when he turned to me, his countenance was blank, still I could not forbear replying to Robert.

  "I am not easily driven away," I said crisply.

  "Loyal Hester," Robert intoned darkly. "Let’s hope your loyalty is not misplaced."

  "Enough!" Edward barked. "I give you food and shelter, but I don't have to listen to your insults."

  Robert looked about to reply again, but then he turned and stomped out. Edward was in no better case, his face crimson, his jaw tightly clenched. "Come," I said, drawing my arm through his. "Let's take a cup of tea in front of the fire. It's cozier there."