“Thank you, Dorcas.”
Dorcas nodded. “I know I’m not a maid fit for a fine lady, and I’m about as good at being a companion as I am a maid, but I’d just as soon not be sent back to Yorkshire. Ain’t got nothing there for me noways.”
“Not even the tragic memory of your young vicar?” Larissa asked, though her tone was more amused than censorious.
Dorcas shrugged. “We did have a right handsome vicar but he wasn’t for the likes of me. Still, I don’t lie, so much as I just dream out loud… Will that send me to hell do you think?”
Larissa laughed softly as she struggled with the ties of her gown. “I think it takes a bit more to get to hell than that… or at the very least I certainly hope so. If you’re going, I’ll be beside you.”
Dorcas stepped forward and helped loosen the gown. Her hands were rough and she clearly was not accustomed to helping someone else undress. Regardless, Larissa tolerated the treatment and hoped that over time, Dorcas’ skills as a maid-companion would improve.
“What have you lied about, miss?”
Larissa sighed heavily. “I stole a letter… Spencer—the Earl—wrote to my brother-in-law and asked for his help. But Rhys and Emme had gone to town and I didn’t want to wait until they returned to know what was happening with him. So I took it, I read it, and then I stole a carriage to come here. I’ve become quite the criminal, Dorcas.”
Dorcas nodded sagely. “So you love him then?”
“Who?” Larissa caged.
Dorcas guffawed. “Who she says! That walking corpse what answered the door! Ferston.”
“Fergus,” Larissa corrected.
“Figures,” Dorcas shot back. “I might not be used to fine folk, but I know workin’ folk and that stick hasn’t turned a hand a day in his life. Thinks he’s too good for it, he does! And them two women… I don’t know what they’re about, but I’d not trust either of them as far as that stick could toss ‘em. But don’t be changing the subject. If you couldn’t wait for your brother-in-law to tell you what he said, then maybe you thought what he had to say would be about you… and that means you’re in love with him!”
“I have … feelings for Spencer. He is very dear to me, but it is much more complicated than that,” Larissa protested as she shrugged out of her gown. Her stays followed and she breathed a sigh of relief as they fell away.
“Complicated how?” Dorcas demanded. “What was in your head when you decided to go haring off to Scotland?
Larissa sighed heavily and stared into the fire. “I had planned to seduce him.”
“Into marriage?” Dorcas asked. “It don’t always work. You give ‘em the milk and they’d be a fool to buy the cow.”
Larissa shook her head. “No. I’m not one for marriage… but I’ve had these feelings for Spencer for a very long time and I pushed him away when I should not have. I came here intending to rectify that.”
Dorcas gifted her with a comically skeptical glance. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but I never heard of no gently bred woman going out of her way to seduce a man when trappin’ him for the parson wasn’t the goal! I think you might be as daft as he is!”
Larissa glared at the woman. “Suffice to say, Dorcas, that there are events that have occurred in my past that make me ill-suited for being a wife. Regardless, I—Am I not entitled to have passion in my life?”
Dorcas shrugged. “You might could have if he weren’t cracked in the head.”
Larissa gaped at the woman and asked with incredulity, “Are you attempting to comfort me? I find myself more than a bit confused by your method!”
“Just sayin’ it, is all. He’s cracked. You know it and so does he, I reckon. Just ’cause he’s cracked today don’t mean he will be tomorrow… In my village back home, old Mrs. Horton was off her gourd for nigh on two years, walkin’ naked in the street! Then one day, she just stopped doing it. O’course, her husband what would make anyone ready for Bedlam had died.”
Realizing that the conversation would only deteriorate further if allowed to continue on that path, Larissa changed directions. “Thank you for the words of wisdom, Dorcas, but I fear it’s too late. Spencer is not himself at all. Something horrible has happened here, Dorcas, and I’ve no idea how to help him. My brother-in-law is no fool and will soon figure out where I have gone. He will come after me and then I’ll be back where I started!”
Larissa climbed into the steaming tub and tried not to groan as the heated water eased her aching muscles. The walk up the hill carting her valise had been more taxing than she’d realized, especially after being closed up in a carriage for days. “When my brother-in-law realizes what I’ve done, and just how reckless I’ve been with the tattered remnants of my reputation—Oh, Dorcas, it is not going to go well, but I’d welcome the lectures and any punishment for my willful behavior just to have Rhys here. He would know what to do. He would know how to help him, because I truly do not.”
Dorcas sighed. “Won’t much matter. It’ll be weeks before he gets to you here.”
Larissa leaned forward, hugging her knees as the full import of all she’d done, as well as her feelings of utter inadequacy for dealing with whatever was happening to Spencer sank in. She was out of her depth and had no idea what to do about it. “I can’t imagine why it would take him that long. He and Emme have surely already returned to Briarwood and discovered my absence. The note I left her that I had gone to visit our aunt was such an obvious Banbury tale that if I don’t return in a day or two, she will have to tell Rhys. He’ll be furious with me. He’ll be furious with Spencer… but given the state I found Spencer in, it would be worth it to have Rhys here to deal with things. I’m ill equipped for this, Dorcas. I don’t know how to help him.”
Dorcas knelt by the tub and began scrubbing Larissa’s back with a vigor that belied the woman’s own lackluster hygiene. “It’s going to snow, miss, and I don’t mean a little. We’re in for a storm to be sure. I overheard some of the maids talking about it. You can’t be countin’ on him to come and set it all aright. Ain’t no one getting to you here for weeks yet. There’s snow coming in, miss, and them roads’ll be a sight for at least a week. Maybe more. Once the snow melts, the mud’ll be just as bad!”
That was an unforeseen complication. Her intent had been to see Spencer, to find out what sort of assistance he needed and to attempt some sort of reconciliation or at least truce before sending for either Rhys and Emme or Lord Ellersleigh and his wife, Abigail. It wasn’t that she was unwilling to help Spencer entirely on her own, but that she simply wasn’t certain of how to do so.
“You can go now, Dorcas. I’ll finish up on my own. Please take my traveling gown down to the laundress, and if possible, could you get us a bite to eat?”
Dorcas nodded. “Aye, miss. I reckon I can scavenge something from the kitchen… don’t seem right that it wasn’t offered. Let’s just hope I don’t run into any spooks between here and there.”
“I don’t believe that ghosts are the problem at Kinraven, Dorcas,” Larissa stated.
“Never said ghosts, did I? Spooks. It’s the living what creeps about this place,” the maid said emphatically as she gathered up the discarded clothing.
After a moment, Larissa heard the door close and leaned back in the tub. Using one of the ewers of fresh water beside the tub, she wet her hair and then lathered it heavily. She’d just rinsed it clean, the last of the suds dropping into the water when she heard the door open again.
“Dorcas, you can’t have gone all the way to the kitchens that quickly!” she exclaimed, and turned toward the door. But the maid wasn’t there. No one was. The room was entirely empty. Had it been her imagination? No, she decided, as she glanced at the lamp on the table near the door which still flickered wildly from the reverberation. The door had opened and closed twice, which meant that Dorcas had left, and then someone else had.
Chilled from head to toe even though the water remained warm, Larissa reached for the drying cloth and quickly climbed
from the tub. She toweled herself off quickly and donned her night rail and wrapper. They didn’t offer much in the way of modesty, but it was a better option than being caught naked in the tub. Who had been in her room? Who had been watching her? And why?
Taking the lamp from the table, she stepped out into the hallway. She scanned both ends of the corridor but saw no evidence of anyone lurking about. Determined to find some sort of answer, she marched from one end of the corridor to the other, peering into every alcove, nook and cranny. It wasn’t until she reached the end of the hall nearest her room that she noted the tapestry. It fluttered softly. The flame from her lamp danced, as well.
As she moved toward it, hand outstretched, she had no idea what she expected to find behind it, but her heart pounded furiously in her chest.
“What are you doing, miss?”
A startled scream escaped her. Whirling, her hand to her breast, and her eyes wide, she found herself confronted with the grim visage of the housekeeper, Mrs. Agatha.
The dour faced housekeeper frowned at her, as if she were attempting to steal the silver. With her hair scraped tightly back and wearing black bombazine from head to toe, the woman had the appearance of a large crow. Larissa was reminded of what the driver had said about harpies. She could understand his concern.
“I thought I heard something,” Larissa replied softly.
Apparently, Larissa’s scream had alerted Dorcas, who poked her head out of a hidden door in the paneling that must have led to down to the kitchen. Carrying a tray laden with stolen bread and cheese as well as a pot of tea, the maid trotted into the hallway and stared, nonplussed, at Mrs. Agatha. The housekeeper gave her a hard stare before glancing down at the tray with a disapproving frown and then turned her attention back to Larissa. She was clearly less than pleased to have them under foot.
“Ye do not belong here, miss. A bachelor household is bad enough, but one wi’ such dark goings on can only lead to ruin! I will send to the village for a carriage and in the morning ye can be on yer way,” the woman offered. There was no warmth in her tone. It was completely frigid.
“I will be more than adequately chaperoned with my companion, Dorcas, and of course, Miss DeWarre, who is quite pleased to have us here.” That was a bit of a stretch, but hardly signified.
“Oh, aye. I’m sure she is. You’ll be sorry you ever crossed the threshold here, miss,” the housekeeper warned.
“The earl is a dear friend of my family and a close connection. I will not leave until I am certain he is well.” Larissa was firm but cordial in her response.
The housekeeper smiled coldly. It was like watching stone crack and break. “Then ye will not leave here. The Earls of Kinraven are doomed, miss, each one cursed to a fate worse than the last. Madness cannot be undone.”
“Cursed?” Larissa queried. Spencer had said so as well, but if the housekeeper could offer more detailed information, she would certainly listen.
The housekeeper nodded. “Aye. Cursed. For a hundred years, every Kinraven heir has met a dire fate.”
Larissa had reached the end of her patience with dire, cryptic warnings and superstition. “Enough! Curses are nothing more than superstitious nonsense. His lordship is ill and needs care, not gossip!”
The housekeeper surveyed her for a moment before inclining her head stiffly. “As you wish, miss, though the doctor has been here. He bled his lordship but had no success in ridding him of the evil humors. Evil cannot be cured so easily.”
Larissa shuddered. She could not imagine what sort of torturous practices their archaic physician had subjected him to. If he had gone mad, was it any wonder? “We will be seeking our own physician. The care of the earl is now in my hands. Have a care what you say… to him or about him, Mrs. Agatha.”
“Ye take a great deal upon yerself for a guest, miss. Perhaps more than ye ought,” the woman said as she walked away.
Larissa watched her walk away and then whispered softly to Dorcas, “I do not trust her. I cannot trust anyone in this house other than you and Forrester. They have allowed him to descend to this state for a reason, Dorcas. I do not know what it is, but I have to believe that there is something more at play here. We must help him.”
Dorcas sighed. “I should have stayed in England, but no!”
“I have paid you generously, and if you stay with me, I will see to it that my brother-in-law compensates you very handsomely,” Larissa offered.
“Fat lot of good it does if I’m murdered in my bed by a mad earl!” Dorcas huffed.
“Dorcas, the earl is a good man and does not deserve what is happening to him here… if it were simply that he’d gone mad, do you not think his household would be more apt to assist him? I cannot shake the feeling that they are involved and he has no one to help him now but us! What would your vicar say?”
“I don’t have a vicar, do I? I jilted him to run off to London and wound up here! No. But fine, yes, we ought to help him!”
Larissa didn’t bother to scold the woman or correct her on the ever-changing fate of the poor vicar. In truth, it did no good. Dorcas spoke just as she pleased and was not shy in voicing her opinions. Given their present situation, having any ally, including Dorcas, was a boon. “Thank you, Dorcas.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I may come to my senses and run off soon enough! Daft place full of daft people… and those that aren’t daft are just plain scary!”
Larissa watched her erstwhile companion take the tray of food into their chamber, grumbling the whole way.
Chapter Four
Spencer entered the breakfast room and felt the sharp gaze of his cousin, Katherine, on him. It was weighted and measuring, as always. Rather than ignore her as he typically did, he turned to stare back at her, direct and unwavering. “Good morning,” he uttered evenly.
She inclined her head. “Good morning, cousin. You haven’t broken your fast with us in some weeks. It appears Miss Walters’ presence has had a rejuvenating effect on you.”
Spencer said nothing further as he made his way to the sideboard and filled a plate with food he had no appetite for. The truth of the matter was that he had not been entirely certain whether or not Larissa’s arrival the previous evening had been fact or a figment of his imagination. As a general rule, the twisted visions and nightmarish images that were visited upon him were nothing he’d wish for, but as he had no understanding of the workings of his fevered mind, he’d been hesitant to hazard a guess as to whether he’d imagined her or not. He’d said nothing to Forrester and Forrester, as was his wont of late, had been unaccountably quiet.
“She’s quite lovely,” Katherine continued.
Aunt Finella cackled. “Oh, aye. She’s a right beauty… makes poor Katherine here look like week old bread!”
Spencer closed his eyes. Between Katherine’s machinations and Finella’s crass pronouncements, it was no wonder he’d taken to avoiding meals with them. “Miss Katherine is lovely, as well, Aunt Finella. It’s unkind of you to suggest otherwise.”
Finella guffawed. “If she were that lovely, you’d have offered for her by now!”
It had been a frequent suggestion since he’d come to Kinraven. Never mind that Katherine was ten years his senior and well past the hope of bearing an heir for him. Rather than be unkind in saying so, he offered a more generic response. “I have no intention of offering for anyone,” Spencer said, settling into his chair at the head of the table. “I am quite content in my bachelor state.”
Katherine settled back in her chair. “’Tis a shame, cousin. One would have thought, given your recent illness, that the merits of having one to care for you would have become apparent.”
“I have servants who are well paid to care for me,” he replied and then took a hearty bite of the eggs. They were like sawdust in his mouth. Nothing had flavor and his throat was so dry, it was difficult to choke them down, undoubtedly the after effect of far too much brandy.
Katherine smiled at him but her eyes flashed with cold fury. “
And dear friends like your Miss Walters.”
Her interest in Larissa wasn’t unexpected, but it made his blood run cold. He was stuck with Katherine. She’d come with the house, so to speak, and he had no intention of tossing female dependents out into the street, yet he would not underestimate her. Katherine’s greatest desire was to officially become the Countess of Kinraven and she’d made her interest in him quite clear from the outset. It was not an interest he would ever return. His feelings were firmly engaged in another direction, and regardless of the fact that they would never be returned, he would not marry otherwise.
“I understand your disappointment, Katherine,” he said. “But I trust that you will be all that is civil and amiable to Miss Walters while she is here.”
“Will she not be staying overlong than?” Katherine asked as she sipped her tea. It did not escape anyone present that she had not actually answered his question.
“I imagine she will return to London or to Briarwood soon enough,” he replied. “Regardless of my recent failings, I am the Earl of Kinraven and I am in control of my household. If need be, Katherine, you can be removed from it.”
She placed her cup and saucer back on the table. “I have dawdled over breakfast quite long enough, I think. Have a good day, my lord. Aunt Finella.”
The older woman clucked her tongue as Katherine swept out and then shook her head. “You’re witless.”
“By all means, expand upon that, Aunt Finella. You will whether I like it or not,” he muttered.
“It isn’t a wise decision to challenge Katherine openly, my son. That girl, I love her dearly, but she’s a formidable enemy if you’ve crossed her. Be mindful of that. Your young miss from London isn’t equipped to deal with the likes of her,” Finella said sadly.
Larissa was equipped to deal with far more than anyone realized, but just because she could, didn’t mean she should have to. “I will keep that in mind, aunt.”
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