She allowed herself a moment to think of the Braithwaite girls and miss them. But since sentiment achieved nothing, she concentrated determinedly on Pamela.
Soft, uneven footsteps passed the library and hurried down the stairs. Mr. Benedict, no doubt, going back to his study instead of to his bedchamber. Even here, she was aware of his movements.
Drawing the shawl tighter around her, she read on. Another ten minutes and she would return to her cozy bedchamber.
Without warning, the library door banged shut.
Caroline jumped, dropping the book, which tumbled onto the floor. How had the door banged? She’d closed it when she’d come in. She rose, picked up the book, and hastened to the door. Pulling it open, she gazed onto the dark landing. A light shone under the drawing room door, and she had just taken a step toward it when she glimpsed something from the corner of her eye, something flitting silently past at the foot of the stairs.
Uneasily, she relit her candle and walked downstairs to investigate. But before she was half way down, a strange, unearthly howl filled her ears, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. It didn’t sound like the same crying she’d heard emanating from Miss Benedict’s room. It seemed to come from downstairs, though she supposed Miss Benedict could move around the house if she chose. Unless Betty Smith was right that Javan Benedict locked her in.
This was a truly bizarre household.
The howl came again, more distant. Her curiosity thoroughly aroused—along with a desire to make it stop in case it woke and frightened Rosa—she ran the rest of the way downstairs, following what she thought was the direction of the noise, across the entrance hall to the passage that led to the side door and the study beyond.
Rounding the corner at full tilt, she ran up against something—someone—hurtling in the opposite direction. She gasped in shock as hands seized her by the shoulders and her candle wobbled precariously, it’s flame flickering wildly over the face of her assailant. Javan Benedict.
Fortunately, he looked as stunned as she. “Miss Grey!” he exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing?”
“I heard something, a howling,” she blurted. “I thought it came from this direction.”
“And I from the other,” he said ruefully. He didn’t seem to be aware he still held her by the shoulders, the candle squashed dangerously between them. “The layout of this house seems to bounce sound so that you cannot locate it. Where were you?”
“I was in the library and the door banged. I came out to investigate and I thought I saw something downstairs, and then I heard the howling.”
“The library door?” he repeated. “That’s interesting.” He released her without apology and took the candle from her before striding on down the passage back to the entrance hall.
Since she didn’t know what else to do, she trotted after him. At last, as they crossed the hall, she said, low, “Why is the library interesting?”
She froze as he whipped around and thrust one finger over her lips. Although quite clearly a demand for silence—and an irritable one at that—his touch seemed to fizz through her. It only lasted a moment, though, for a knocking sound above was swiftly followed by a most horrible screeching and clanking. Like the clanking chains she’d heard tell of Blackhaven. A shudder ran through her.
Forgetting about silence, Benedict broke into a run, taking the stairs three at a time, while Caroline hurried after him. She held onto the bannister as a guide, since she could barely make out any of the bouncing light carried by her employer.
He threw open the library door, allowing some of the light from there to spill out. Relieved, Caroline ran up the last couple of steps and followed him inside. Apart from Mr. Benedict, the room was empty. He stood in the middle, slowly turning to peer into every corner.
“The library is interesting,” he said without interrupting his deliberate search, “because he has never been there before. Or at least made no noise there. It has always been on the ground floor.”
“He?” she pounced. “Then someone was here?”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Grey?” he asked, blowing out her candle and setting it down on the table.
“No.”
“Neither do I. Therefore, I believe it was quite distinctly a live someone.”
“Who?” she asked bewildered.
“Someone who wants to frighten us away, I suspect, as they frightened previous tenants.”
She searched his face and shivered. It was the intruder who should have been frightened. “You’re not afraid,” she observed.
“No, but I won’t have him frightening Rosa, so I will put a stop to it.”
“How often does this happen?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Several times within a couple of weeks when we first came. Lately, only once or twice a month. As if they lost heart because we didn’t immediately run but can’t quite give up what worked so well for them in the past.”
“Does Rosa hear the commotion?”
“Not so far. It always happens around this time, when she is already asleep and fortunately, she sleeps deeply. Otherwise, I doubt we would still be here. He doesn’t go near people, even the servants, just makes noises from a distance. His aim is to scare not to harm.”
“Do you know who it is?”
He shrugged. “One of the local well-to-do farmers who wants to buy up the hall and grounds cheaply. While the estate still makes money from the rent of the hall, the trustees are less likely to sell it. At least, that’s all I can think of. I’d suspect it was young boys out for a lark, except I’m fairly sure there’s only one of them.”
“But how does he get in?” Caroline wondered.
“Incisive as always,” Benedict said with unexpected approval. “I wondered if he might have an old key, but I had all the locks changed, and still he comes in. My money now is on some kind of secret passage. Do you know what I think?”
She frowned, her breath catching with the possibility. “That the passage opens here in the library! No one uses this room. He came in earlier and tried to leave by the same means, only I was here and he rushed out in shock, letting the door bang behind him!” She frowned. “But the howling came after the door banged.”
“Maybe this wasn’t a howling night,” he said flippantly. “Sometimes, he just moves things around. We find boots in the dining room, a fruit bowl on the hall stand, a painting on the wrong wall. I think he howled to get you out of the library so he could get in unobserved. He won’t have expected you to follow him, so I do hope you gave him a fright.”
“So do I! Have you reported these intrusions to the magistrate?”
“No, I couldn’t abide the fuss. I’ll deal with it myself.”
“If you know who it is, perhaps you should call on him and make it clear you know. Frighten him.”
“I tried that. I think it is Nairn’s son from White Farm. But old Nairn refused to take the hint. He denied it to my face, in fact, but he knew more than he pretended.”
“That was when the visitations lessened?” she asked.
He nodded, casting her a curious glance. “You’re very quick witted, Miss Grey.”
“Thank you.”
He sank onto the window seat she had vacated only minutes before and fixed her with his direct, curious gaze. “Are you not frightened away by this intrusion?”
She thought about it. It might have been his presence, but she didn’t feel scared at all. “No. I believe I would like him frightened off. He may be no physical threat to Rosa, but any stranger in her home is alarming and inexcusable. Hence my advice to inform the magistrate. Mr. Winslow is most helpful.”
“He may be, but I shall have him—our intruder—next time. All I have to do is find where the passage opens.”
Caroline frowned. “The clanking we heard must have been the secret door opening and closing.” She went to the fireplace wall, knocking it in various places with her knuckles in search of a hollow sound. The big fireplace made a likelier noise, so, under his ap
parently amused scrutiny, she knocked and poked in various places, eventually crouching down to try the lower tiles and twisting the decorative roses at the bottom.
“Enough, Miss Grey,” came his voice behind her, so close that it made her jump. She had been so involved in finding the passage that she hadn’t seen him move. His boots were planted close beside her. His hand appeared as he bent to help her rise. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I fear your continuous knocking is more likely than the howling to disturb Rosa and Marjorie.”
She flushed and tried to rise without his aid, but he caught her fingers and tugged her to her feet more swiftly than she was prepared for. She clutched the mantelpiece with her free hand, while he held on to her hand until she was steady.
“I apologize,” she said, mortified. “I’m afraid I got stupidly carried away. You are quite right.”
He stood too close. His warmth seemed to seep into her own. She could smell his distinctive scent, soap and sandalwood, and the hint of wine on his breath. Though it took conscious bravery to meet and hold his gaze, he did not appear to be angry. In fact, there was a hint of humor in those hard, grey eyes.
“There is no need for apologies,” he said mildly. “If Williams and I find it tomorrow, you will be the first to know. Though we had best keep it from Rosa, at least until we’ve caught the miscreant and blocked up the passage.”
“She is bound to hear you knocking from the schoolroom,” Caroline pointed out.
“Then we’ll pretend to be checking for woodworm.”
“And if you don’t find the passage?”
“Williams or I will sit in here every evening until our intruder returns. One way or another, we will find it.”
His eyes weren’t really hard at all, she decided, just veiled, secretive. In fact, reflecting the glow of the candles on the mantel shelf, they were warm, intense and rather beautiful. The shadows emphasized the strong lines and hollows of his face, and she had the sudden, insane urge to touch the ridged scar on his cheek.
Somehow, she managed to nod. She didn’t seem able to breathe freely enough to speak. His lips curved into a faint smile, drawing her gaze, and her wayward thoughts. How would they feel against hers? How did such a man as Javan Benedict kiss?
Shocked by her own speculation, she almost snatched her hand free and slipped past him.
“Yes, please do let me know what you find,” she managed to say as she walked to the door. “I shall be most intrigued. Goodnight, Mr. Benedict.”
She wasn’t sure he answered, but she did feel the heat of his gaze burning into the back of her neck as she fled.
Chapter Five
It was some days before Serena, the new Marchioness of Tamar, noticed the absence of her sisters’ governess. For one thing, she was absorbed in the wonder of her marriage and the joy of being with her new husband. For another, no one troubled to mention it to her. She only discovered it when Tamar set up his easel in their bedchamber one morning, and she used the opportunity offered by his preoccupation to go in search of her sisters.
Her sisters had visited her new apartments several times since the wedding, and she and Tamar had dined with the family after her mother and brother’s failed departure for London. But Miss Grey’s absence had, stupidly, not occurred to her until she walked into the schoolroom and found it empty. When calling for her sisters elicited no response, she wandered down to the drawing room. In the long gallery, she encountered her brother, striding off to his study, no doubt, since the steward was at his heels.
“Gervaise, where are the girls?” Serena asked. “Are they out somewhere in the rain with Miss Grey?”
Braithwaite paused. “Ah. Go on to the study,” he instructed his steward. “I’ll join you directly. Serena…” Drawing her further away from the drawing room, where, no doubt, their mother lurked, he said low, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about Miss Grey. She had a letter from home that upset her.”
“She’s gone home?” Serena said in surprise. “I wish she would have said goodbye!”
“Well, no, not home,” Braithwaite said uncomfortably. “I found her alone in the schoolroom—upset, as I said—when I was looking for the girls. I stayed to offer a word of comfort, and of course, Mother walked in and immediately read the worst into an entirely innocent situation. The devil was in it that the door had blown over and she chose to believe Miss Grey had closed it deliberately and was somehow trying to trap or inveigle me into marriage.”
Serena’s jaw dropped. “Miss Grey?”
“Well, exactly. I won’t say I haven’t noticed her because I have. But I would no more act upon it than…than…well, I just wouldn’t! Besides, she is so proper and efficient that I have no idea where mother got the stupid notion. She could easily have passed it off, but she chose to dismiss Miss Grey on the spot.”
“She what?” Serena said furiously. “And for such a reason? Has she any idea how that will affect Miss Grey’s future?”
“None, until she stops and thinks about it. Which she will, eventually, as you know. And she will be sorry in the end, so I sent Miss Grey up to Haven Hall for a week or two while Mother cools off.”
“Haven Hall?” Serena repeated in accents of horror. “How could you, Gervaise? What on earth is there for her in that place?”
“A pupil,” Braithwaite said impatiently. “Benedict has a daughter. Benedict being the tenant himself, whom I ran into when I was riding last week.”
“What is he like?” Serena asked, distracted in spite of herself. “Miss Grey encountered him while walking one day and found him strange and grumpy.”
Her brother shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t say he was friendly, but he was not boorish.”
“How did you find out he had a daughter?”
“She was with him,” Braithwaite said in surprise. “Didn’t I tell you that? Pretty child but shy. A year or so younger than Helen, perhaps.”
“And was he kind to the child?” Serena asked anxiously.
Braithwaite blinked. “Well, he did not beat her in front of me! But she looked perfectly content to be with him, if that’s what you mean. Listen, though, since you brought the subject up, Mother and I are making another attempt to go to London tomorrow, now that the wretched coach is finally repaired. I shall have to write when Mother relents about Miss Grey.”
“You’ll forget to ask her,” Serena said indignantly. “Why don’t I just bring Miss Grey back once you’ve gone? Then you may write here whenever you remember to get Mama to relent and I’ll write back as though I’ve only just brought her.”
Braithwaite scowled. “You are untruthful and Machiavellian,” he said severely and strode away. It was noticeable, however, that he had not forbidden her. Not that Braithwaite’s prohibition would have made the slightest difference to Serena.
*
Considering the oddity of the household, Caroline grew used to it much more quickly than she’d expected. Although the morning after the intruder’s visit, several items including umbrellas, hats, and plates had indeed been moved randomly around the ground floor, it didn’t reoccur over the next week. She knew either Williams or Mr. Benedict spent time in the library each evening in the hope of catching the intruder, but without any luck. Nor did they find a way to open the passage they were convinced was there. Caroline knew, because she made a point of asking Mr. Benedict.
Neither, fortunately, was there a repeat of the heartrending cries of that first night, though Caroline confirmed a little more about their origin. One day, when she went looking for Rosa after luncheon, she found her in one of the bedchambers on the other side of the house from the schoolroom—the same chamber, she was sure, where she’d seen Mr. Benedict waiting that first night.
This time the door was open, as were the bed curtains inside. The lady who’d thrown the cake the day Caroline had arrived lay on the bed. Miss Marjorie Benedict. Rosa stretched out beside her, gently stroking her hair.
It was a private scene, and Caroline chose not to interrup
t it. She withdrew silently and went to the schoolroom to wait for Rosa.
That evening, when she and Rosa entered the dining room, Miss Benedict was already there, flitting around the table as though checking the simple place settings were in order. Rosa ran to her immediately and hugged her, receiving a hug in return, after which she took her aunt’s hand and all but dragged her toward Caroline.
Caroline curtsied.
“Ah, you are Miss Grey,” the lady said with a surprisingly sweet smile. Close to her, Caroline could see family likeness, not only to Rosa but to Mr. Benedict. There was something around her eyes and the shape of her face. In Miss Benedict, the features were softened, but she was quite clearly related.
So much for the cook’s conviction that she was his wife.
Miss Benedict offered her hand. “I have heard so much about you. Welcome to Haven Hall. I have been ill, you understand, or I would have welcomed you before and helped you find your feet here. Is everything comfortable for you?”
“Most comfortable, thank you.”
At that moment, Mr. Benedict limped in. “Well met, Marjorie,” he said without any surprise. “I see you’ve introduced yourself to Miss Grey. Shall we sit? The soup is on its way.”
There was certainly more chatter at dinner than Caroline had grown used to. Miss Benedict initiated conversation on many topics, from the latest novels to possible peace with France, interspersing it all with questions about Caroline’s teaching experience. It was kindly done, as though the lady were satisfying herself as to the new governess’s suitability without appearing to be interviewing her. Caroline knew she was right when she intercepted Mr. Benedict’s sardonic glance.
He said little on any subject, merely smiled sourly when Bonaparte and the French were mentioned. Clearly, he had opinions he chose not to share. Intrigued, Caroline opened her mouth to ask him, but his sister had changed topics suddenly.
“And do you find our Rosa a good pupil?”
Caroline turned to her civilly. “Indeed I do.”
Regency for all Seasons: A Regency Romance Collection Page 5