The Ghost and Jacob Moorhead

by Jeanne Savery

  “A search must be organized. I don’t know this region so cannot do it, but if my grandfather’s heir to this estate is lying somewhere, hurt or worse, he must be found. You must see to it, Reading.”

  Something well over an hour later, Jacob stalked into the house and yelled for Verity. “What the devil do you mean by it?” he demanded when she appeared.

  “Mean by what?”

  “By embarrassing me to death,” he said, growling out the words.

  “And just how did I embarrass you?”

  “Demanding I be searched for like a little boy who has run off and gotten lost, that’s how.”

  As angry then as he, she demanded, “Your horse didn’t come home last night. Was I to leave you lying somewhere out in the hills, a bone broken or your skull cracked and do nothing?”

  He opened his mouth to retort and then shut it. “Oh.”

  She blinked. “Is that all you have to say?”

  His eyes narrowed. “If you expect an apology, you won’t get it. I will, however, admit that I should have sent Reading a message.”

  Verity opened her mouth to demand he tell her where he’d got to, but then realized it was not her place. Not at all. However curious I am, I cannot ask.

  He was, as he’d already pointed out, fully adult. He was also a man who liked women. It would be unwise, if nothing else, to ask him where he’d been when it should be obvious, even to someone who was supposed to be naïvely innocent and unaware of such things, exactly where he’d spent the night. Or if not where, exactly, then that he’d spent it in some female’s bed…

  “Since I’m here,” he said, breaking into her thoughts, “I’ll have George pack a box with the bits and pieces I’ll need in the next few days and have Reading send him and it over to the village inn.”

  “You were…at the inn?” The inn where Aunt Jenna had said he must go? Verity stiffened and turned away. “I told my aunt. I told her!”

  “Told her what?” he asked, his foot on the first step and his hand on the newel post.

  “That I must leave. It is my place to go, not yours.” She swung around. “You belong here. I’m the interloper.”

  “And here I’ve been worrying that I’m the trespasser.” He grinned but sobered when she only frowned more fiercely. “It is only for a few days, my dear, and then your Aunt Mary will be here to play propriety and all will be well.”

  “My Aunt Mary… The explorer? That Aunt Mary?”

  “Have you so many?” he asked. She merely glowered. “But yes, that Aunt Mary, you idiot child.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she said absently. “Or a child… Aunt Mary… She visited us in Italy. I told you, didn’t I?”

  “She must have been the only one of our relatives who did.” Suddenly concerned, he asked, “You didn’t lie, did you? You did like her?”

  Verity’s eyes lit up. “Very much. But is she not off on another of her travels?”

  “I think she’s pretty much given up exotic foreign travel. At least when I visited her not long ago she had no plans, although I think she wasn’t entirely happy about that.” He frowned. “I’m not certain why…” The frown faded and a rather sardonic smile appeared. “But I’ll admit I’m glad she is home because we need her. Now, if you’ll excuse me—or even if you’ll not—I’ll just go up and order packed what I’ll need until she gets here.” He rubbed his chin and grimaced. “If nothing else I’d like my own razors.” He took the stairs two at a time and disappeared down the hall toward his room.

  His room—with hers just across the hall.

  “Blast Aunt Jenna anyway,” muttered Verity. “If she’d allowed me to make use of the day bed in the housekeeper’s suite, there wouldn’t be this problem.” She turned on her heel to go have a word with Cook about meals while Jacob was gone. “If she had allowed me to share her rooms, I’d be the servant I should be and not the neither-nor thing I am and no one would have a word to say about whether he slept under the same roof as I did.”

  * * * * *

  Lady Mary Tomlinson lolled on her chaise, one knee bent in a most unladylike manner, the other leg crossed over it. She held a small dark cigarillo away from her face as she reread the short missive from Jacob Moorhead. “Verity? Orphaned? Living half-servant, half-daughter of the house…and much in need of a chaperon?”

  Lady Mary suddenly felt more alive than in a very long time. She grinned—another rather unladylike character trait. Enjoying a few more puffs on the cigarillo, she stared at the ceiling and plotted. And then she frowned. “The relationship…might it be a bit close? But no. Father’s sister-in-law strayed and Jacob’s mother’s real father is quite obvious, the two being as alike as two peas in a pod. Jacob, therefore, is not much of a real relation at all and, even if he were, as a second or third cousin or whatever it is, he’s far enough removed.”

  She dropped the cigar into the big brass urn that stood for that very purpose by her couch. Rising to her feet in a rolling manner others her age would envy, she raised her voice to a dull roar. “Rube! Where are you? I need you.”

  A stately looking man, wearing eyeglasses and his head bound in a smallish, crisply folded, gold lamé turban, stalked into the room frowning. “Yes, madam?” he asked coldly. His hands were gloved and in one he held a tall candlestick, in the other a polishing cloth. “You barked?”

  “I did not. I only… Oh well, maybe I did. We leave for my father’s northernmost estate early tomorrow. See to it.”

  “High Moor Hall?” His brows arched up his dark forehead and the scowl deepened. “Tomorrow, madam?”

  “Oh, come down off your high horse. I am needed there. I’ll leave with no more than what I need for a few days while you finish here and follow with the rest. Will that satisfy your majesty?”

  The prince, for that was what he was among his own people, stared down his long narrow nose.

  “Well?”

  He sighed. “Mary, you know I cannot allow you to go off on your own. Alone. Without me. You know…”

  “I know.” She sighed, looking at a distant prospect no one else could see. “I also know no one has attempted to kill me for upward of two years now. They’ve given up, Rube. Why can you not see that?”

  “They haven’t. There have been the…messages. Besides, I know the man.” Rube’s jaw jutted in a stubborn fashion. “He will not give up. I know.” There was intensity to the low rumbling voice that etched up Mary’s spine. The two stared at each other.

  Finally Lady Mary sighed. “Very well,” she said. “When can we leave?”

  Suddenly white teeth flashed against his darkly golden skin. “Tomorrow?” Before she could express the irritation following the shock of his conceding to her wishes, he added, “I’ve changed my mind. We’ll steal away early before those who watch you are up and around. They’ll be some time discovering we are gone.”

  Mary sighed. “I wish I understood why that high muckamuck fixed on me in his grief, wanting revenge for his loss. And to such a degree he is determined to do me in, in the worst fashion he can devise.” She met Rube’s eyes. “I can never thank you for rescuing me as you did.”

  His skin took on a rosy red-gold glow. “You saved my mother, did you not? How could my family not repay that debt?”

  “But saving your mother involved no more than a few days by her sickbed. You have been at my side for nearly three years and there is no end in sight. Your father must wish your return.”

  “My father has other sons. I am not needed. He knows and approves that I will protect you to the end of my life if it is necessary,” he said softly. “Now,” he continued, his voice returning to its normal tones, “I’ve much to do if we are to set out early tomorrow morning. Before daylight if possible,” he added, giving her a stern look.

  “Yes, before my enemies are up and around and know what we are about. Perhaps they’ll not immediately learn we’ve gone and then there’d be time before they learn where we’ve gone.” She brightened. “A bit of peace,” she sa
id and, wistfully, added, “I’ll like that.”

  “Peace for you perhaps,” he said indulgently. “I must be ever-vigilant.”

  He stalked off to give orders to various servants—servants chosen with care for their honesty, their strength of character and their loyalty to Lady Mary. He replaced the candlesticks he’d been polishing in the hidden safe with her ladyship’s other valuables and made certain it was locked and well hidden behind the paneling. The old, easily entered safe was moved back in front of the real one and, as usual, stocked with far less valuable items, but enough that a common housebreaker would be satisfied.

  He went to his own suite of rooms and packed what he’d take, including several items of which Lady Mary would not have approved, assuming she’d known of their existence. He grinned. Her ladyship had been so pleased when she’d converted him to her religion. He’d not hurt her feelings by informing her it was not entirely true…

  * * * * *

  “Whist?” The widowed lady with whom Melissa Rumford spoke looked wistful. The two widows had met in London’s Green Park near the old icehouse after an exchange of notes. “If only I dared. It would be great fun, would it not?”

  Melissa had chosen carefully. Lady Merriweather was known to be an avid gambler and her recent widowhood, forcing her away from locations where one might find a game, leaving her open to Melissa’s suggestions for their entertainment.

  “But wouldn’t it be wrong?” asked the lady.

  “I thought perhaps if only widows played? Just four of us, you know? We who cannot with propriety go into public might meet in our own homes for an afternoon’s quiet entertainment and would hurt no one, nor contravene the prohibitions that say we must not enter society for a time.” She named two other slightly less recently widowed ladies. “Do you know them?” she asked.

  “Oh yes. Lady Alice and I have been friends forever and we are both acquainted with Lady Fredericka.” Lady Merriweather adopted a wistful look. “Oh, if only we could. I am so bored.”

  “So am I,” said Melissa and heaved her very best sigh. After a moment she added, “Why do you not ask Lady Alice what she thinks? If she agrees, perhaps you could approach Lady Freddy?”

  “Oh!” Lady Merriweather’s shrill trill of laughter lifted into the air. “You must not call her that, you know. I am told she dislikes it excessively.”

  “Does she? I will remember. It is only that Fredericka is such a mouthful.” Having achieved her goal, Melissa wished the interview ended. On the other hand, she couldn’t very well simply walk off and leave a woman she’d invited for a stroll. “Shall we see if the dairymaids are behaving as they should and watching over their milk cows?” she asked, not knowing what else they might do.

  “One should, I suppose,” said the other but sounded a trifle doubtful. “One buys from them a glass of fresh milk, does one not? It is their means of earning a living, I believe?”

  “I suppose one should order a glassful but I cannot bear to drink the stuff, can you?” The two exchanged a look of understanding. Melissa brightened. “Ah! Are there not usually a few ragtag boys about? Surely they will drink it if one offers it to them.”

  “Charity? Yes, that is always good…”

  Melissa, who was not known for her charity, blandly agreed that that was what she meant. She wondered if she could bear Lady Merriweather’s inane chatter for whatever period of time they must remain together. At least the woman shut her mouth when she played cards. Melissa yearned for a game almost to the degree her dupe did. Actually she yearned for anything that would break the tedium of her days while she was forced to maintain a pretense of mourning for the brute she’d been so very glad to be rid of.

  She responded to a question and then fell back to musing. Almost, she thought, I would do as the earl suggests and go north—and, also as he suggested, take colored clothing as well as my blacks for those times I need not fear nosy neighbors spying on me. That is I would if he would come up with a good…reason…for me to do so. She thought of her miserly widow’s portion with loathing.

  The thing holding her back from going was not really his lordship’s stingy offer to pay the cost of travel, but far more the lack of certainty of how her arrival would be viewed. Jacob was such a strange man. Their last interview had not gone as she’d hoped it would. In fact he’d left abruptly when she’d only hinted at marriage.

  “Yes?” she asked when Lady Merriweather’s tone indicated she’d missed something. “I am so sorry. I fear my mind wandered there for a bit.”

  * * * * *

  “Jenna?” Mary came on through the door around which she’d peeked. Her old friend was awake and sitting up against her pillows and smiled a welcome. “I hear,” Mary added, mischief in her eyes, “that you’ve been a bad girl.”

  Mrs. Jennings’ eyes opened wide. “Mary, you must not tease me so. Hm—” She blushed. “I mean, Lady Mary…”

  “You mean no such thing,” scolded Mary.

  Mrs. Jennings shook her head at the hint she should forget such formality between them. Mary had treated her as a friend from the time she’d discovered the irregular but happy relationship between her father and Mrs. Jennings. “I was informed you were coming. Are our people taking care of you?”

  “Of course they are. Especially our niece. What a delightful young woman she has grown to be.” Mary grinned. “Oh, you’d be amazed at how, even though surprised by our unexpectedly quick arrival, she instantly set to organizing us and feeding us and only just now left me to my own devices.” All the time she’d been speaking she’d been closely observing the ailing housekeeper. “I had hoped to find you up and about but you still look drawn and too pale, Jenna. You are taking good care of yourself, are you not?” she scolded. “We really cannot do without you, you know. In fact Jacob tells me you are to retire.” Mary’s eyes widened at the shock evident on Jenna’s face. “He hadn’t told you? Silly boy. You will be his guest from now on, living here and helping me chaperon her properly. We’ll have to see to hiring a new housekeeper, will we not?”

  Jenna swallowed her shock that decisions concerning her future were being made without her consent. “I suspected they were plotting my retirement but I’ve not agreed. How could I live here? Jacob’s guest? Oh no. And with Verity as well. So very awkward, her being her grandfather’s granddaughter and me only a servant. Oh dear, how could I?”

  Mary chuckled, mentally kicking herself for letting slip a decision her cousin Jacob hadn’t yet revealed. “If you will not be Jacob’s guest then you will be mine. A pair of eccentrics shocking the neighborhood with our antics!”

  “Chaperons shouldn’t be eccentric,” objected Jenna.

  “Shouldn’t we? Oh dear, I’ll have to put away my foreign clothes and buy a wardrobe suitable for visiting and I’ll have to wear all those uncomfortable garments every day just in case company arrives unexpectedly—as it will as soon as the local swains get a really good look at Verity.”

  That last notion settled into Jenna’s mind, which began clicking over in obvious ways.

  Mary once again was irritated with herself. She didn’t want Jenna promoting a relationship to one of the local gentry when it was her dearest wish to see Verity and Jacob facing an altar together and saying vows to no one but each other. She sighed. Softly. And then set her mind to distracting Jenna with tales of her travels since she’d last visited this particular estate.

  Not, of course, the last adventure, the one that very nearly ended her adventures altogether. A small part of her mind wondered if Rube had found a suite of rooms of which he approved, ones he could defend against her enemy if the enemy discovered her whereabouts and came, once again, to— But no. Surely not. It had been very nearly two years since the last attempt. Despite what Rube believed, surely the madman had given up?

  * * * * *

  “He what?” It was several days later when Jacob swung around from the mirror where he stood brushing his hair. He stared at his valet.

  “He has yet to
sleep in his bed,” repeated the valet, holding up Jacob’s best evening coat in one hand, the clothesbrush in his other.

  “It is getting on for a week since Mary arrived—”

  “And worse,” interrupted the outraged and inattentive valet, “the creature is fanatical about washing himself. Does it each and every day out in the washhouse after the maids and washerwomen are done with it. Top to bottom, clean clothes, the whole thing. Every day.”

  Jacob wasn’t as shocked by that as George was. George objected that Jacob wanted a bath far too often to be at all necessary. It couldn’t, George believed, possibly be good for a man’s health.

  If the man’s habit of regular bathing wasn’t upsetting, Jacob was interested in where Mary’s servant slept. He’d been surprised the first time he’d run into the man called Rube. He’d asked Mary about the tall golden-skinned man with eyeglasses and long curling beard, a scar high across his cheekbone. A friend, he’d been told. A prince in his own country…

  But a friend? Surely Verity’s aunt hadn’t…

  Would she take a lover—and such a lover? A foreigner? From who knew where—except Mary mentioned the north of Africa and the desert and long months traveling from one side to the other and back again? Nomads?

  Jacob was determined to check his suspicions and, if there was any basis to them, confront Mary. Whatever she did in her own home, she couldn’t behave that way with Verity in the house. Then he relaxed. The notion was nonsense. Surely it was nonsense. She couldn’t…wouldn’t…

  Or would she? She’d lived her life in as strange a fashion as even an eccentric man might do. But then Jacob thought of the pair’s ages. Mary was a bit older than his mother. Maybe five years? But surely she was that much older than Rube. Rubin? Prince Rubin or Rube something else? Whatever. Didn’t their ages preclude…