by Adele Clee
“Did Lord Farleigh say that?”
“No. It was another governess, Mrs Marshall, though I’m not of the same mind.”
“All governesses say the same,” Jacob said. Clearly, the boy despised women who wore tight top knots and itchy grey dresses.
Rose put her hand to her chest and sighed. “Then thank goodness I’m not one of them. So, do you accept my proposal?”
Jacob turned to Alice and whispered in her ear. The girl nodded, and a giggle escaped as she struggled to contain her excitement.
“We accept,” Jacob said in a commanding voice worthy of the heir to a viscountcy.
“Excellent. Perhaps Mrs Hibbet can speak to your father so that I may attend to you for some part of the day.”
Both children turned to the housekeeper.
Mrs Hibbet shuffled uncomfortably on the spot. “We’ll see what he says. Now, Cook’s made shortbread biscuits and said you could both have one if you come straight away.”
The children’s eyes lit up, and they rushed from the room.
“Don’t run down the stairs,” Mrs Hibbet shouted after them. After a brief pause, she turned to Rose. “I know you’re trying to be kind, but you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. Those tykes have been through enough these last two years, and it’s not good for them to get too attached to any one person.”
Rose swallowed down the lump in her throat. “The last thing I want is to hurt them.”
“I know. I know, dear.” Mrs Hibbet patted Rose’s arm. “The idea has merit. Happen there’s something you could teach them while we wait for his lordship to hire another governess.”
“How many governesses have the children had?”
Mrs Hibbet glanced at the ceiling while counting on her fingers. “At least ten, not counting Mrs Booth.”
“Ten? Surely someone has sat them down to find out what’s wrong.”
“They usually leave without giving notice.”
Rose shook her head. “I was speaking of the children.”
Mrs Hibbet stared at her blankly. Had no one thought to examine why the children drove their governesses away? Had Lord Farleigh not connected the incidents to his wife’s death? Perhaps they had but didn’t know how to address the problem.
The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew their attention.
Alfred, the footman, appeared at the door. “His lordship needs you downstairs. Dr Taylor and the Reverend Wilmslow want to examine Ann and Jenny, and he’s asked that you’re present. And they have a tonic for you, Rose, to stop you from catching the fever.”
Under no circumstances would she let a drop of the doctor’s medicine pass her lips.
“We’ll be right down.” Mrs Hibbet ushered Alfred from the room. “I’ll leave you to tidy the nursery, Rose, and then you’d better call at the manor and inform them of your new position.”
Rose shivered at the thought of returning to the old house. Guilt flared, too. While she’d cleaned the fire, and daydreamed about his lordship’s dazzling green eyes, Nicole had to explain her actions to Stokes and Mrs Gripes.
But she couldn’t worry about that now? The sooner she tidied the nursery, the sooner she could leave for the manor and discover the truth for herself.
“Can I ask you a question?” Rose stared at the cluttered floor.
“By all means.”
“Where are the children’s beds, and why is the playroom up here?”
Mrs Hibbet raised a brow. “That’s two questions, dear.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “But I suppose a brief explanation can’t hurt.”
Something about the housekeeper’s expression suggested Everleigh was a house of many secrets.
“Lady Farleigh suffered with her nerves,” Mrs Hibbet said. “The noise was too much for her, and she had the nursery moved up here so she could sleep during the day. When she died, Lord Farleigh moved the children’s beds to the room next to the master suite, and they’ve stayed there ever since.”
“I see.”
Had their mother’s illness affected the children’s emotional well-being long before her death? Rose knew what it was like to feel unwanted by a parent. As far as the Earl of Stanton was concerned, Rose was another man’s by-blow. A legacy left after one of her mother’s supposed affairs.
“I’d best see to the reverend before he takes matters into his own hands if you get my meaning.” Without another word, Mrs Hibbet hurried from the room.
Rose stared at the mess on the floor. It would take an hour to tidy the children’s belongings. But come what may, she had to learn of Nicole’s fate before the day was out.
I shall accompany you. The woods can be treacherous, even by day.
Lord Farleigh’s words rang in her ears.
But what would she do if she found her father’s carriage waiting in the courtyard of Morton Manor? How would she explain the situation to Lord Farleigh? Perhaps she should go alone, say she’d misunderstood his lordship’s intentions, that she thought him too busy with the doctor.
Wasn’t it better he thought her a little simple? From what she’d heard he had no tolerance for liars, nor did she suspect he had any tolerance for a lady intent on deceit.
Chapter Four
“You want to search every room in the house?” Christian sat back in the chair and stared at Dr Taylor and Reverend Wilmslow seated on the opposite side of the desk. “For what purpose?”
“To determine if the source of the contagion is inside as opposed to somewhere else on the grounds.” Dr Taylor pointed to the long list of names and dates in the leather-bound book lying open on the desk. “At some point or other everyone in the house has been ill. You cannot carry on like this, my lord. Something must be done.”
“But you’ve searched the house twice, some areas more times than he cared to count.” And he’d not have them rummaging through the rooms again. “Besides, you said the sickness stems from contact with a poisonous plant.”
Dr Taylor had dragged him around the grounds of Everleigh numerous times, examining various species looking for a reason to account for the strange illness.
“Based on the symptoms — lethargy, fever, stiffness of joints — I can think of no other explanation.”
Wilmslow took another sip of his tea and placed the cup and saucer on the desk. “There’s a botanist, Hudson, who’s just returned from the Indies, spent years studying all manner of species. His theory is that the spores from some plants can get caught in clothes, can hide in all sorts of strange places.”
Christian failed to keep abreast of scientific developments. Since Cassandra’s death, his children’s happiness and the smooth running of Everleigh monopolised his time. Even so, the theory sounded improbable.
“If you’re suggesting that there are spores from dangerous plants somewhere in this house I’d have to disagree.” The idea was ludicrous. “The illness started almost two years ago. Surely nothing could survive indoors for that long.”
And yet Cassandra’s restless behaviour and constant fatigue bore a resemblance to the symptoms shown by his staff. If so, it meant that she’d come into contact with the source long before the spate of illnesses began. If only he could be sure. Perhaps he could have prevented her demise. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so guilty for not loving her as he should have.
Dr Taylor pushed his hand through his mop of hair. “Then we shall have to interview the staff again. We must take our search beyond the perimeter of Everleigh.”
“Dare I suggest you seek permission to venture onto Morton Manor’s land?” Wilmslow said, despite knowing how Christian felt about the old place. “And perhaps a more thorough examination of the patients might offer a clue. Any sign of a rash or swelling on the chest might help with the diagnosis.”
Dr Taylor shuffled uncomfortably in the chair. “Mrs Hibbet assured us that was not the case.”
As the youngest son of a baron, Wilmslow went to Cambridge, while Taylor attended Oxford and then studied under the previous doctor of the par
ish. Consequently, the reverend outranked him and often used the fact to press his point.
As a viscount and master of the house, Christian was grateful he outranked them both.
“Mrs Hibbet is neither a doctor nor a man of God,” Wilmslow countered. He turned his attention to Christian. “Was that a new maid I saw hovering at the bottom of the stairs? I don’t recall seeing her at church last Sunday.”
“Rose joined the staff yesterday,” Christian said as his thoughts returned to the moment he’d flagrantly ignored the rules of propriety and brushed ash from her chin.
Damn it all. He’d have to avoid her where possible.
Something happened in the air when they were in the same room. The hairs on his nape prickled sending delicious waves of excitement rippling through his body. When Rose smiled, he felt a tug deep in his core. While every fibre of his being longed for a distraction from the months of misery, he would not degrade himself or his staff by succumbing to the weaknesses of the flesh.
For heaven’s sake, she was a maid! Strictly off limits. Out of bounds. He should be blind to her full lips and beguiling blue eyes.
Guilt flared.
But he was not to blame. He was attracted to the educated lady, to the gentleman’s daughter who had no choice but to work for a living. Damn. Rose should not be working as a maid, regardless of her financial struggles. It had taken a tremendous amount of strength not to race to her aid and offer to carry the scuttle, to assist her in the mundane task. Perhaps he should offer her the job of governess, at least until he found a more permanent solution. The position would suit her gentle breeding, and he needed someone to watch over the children. But what decent father would trust his children to a stranger without references?
“My lord?” The sound of Dr Taylor clearing his throat dragged Christian from his musings. “Would you like me to examine the new maid? I suggest she takes a tonic to prevent her from contracting the illness.”
The last thing Christian needed was another member of his staff becoming ill. “Rose must give her permission before I can allow you to administer any medicine.”
Dr Taylor nodded. “Well, I’m due at the Browns to check on young Harold’s leg. Speak to your maid while I see how the rest of your staff are faring. The illness usually lasts a little more than a week, so I expect both the maids and the groom to be up and about in a few days.”
Christian stood, tugged on the bell cord and instructed Foster to find Mrs Hibbet. Since the misunderstanding with Wilmslow and another maid, Jane, Christian insisted on a chaperone.
“Of course, if one believes the gossip, there is another explanation for the bad luck you encounter here at Everleigh.” The reverend spoke in the elevated tone of those schooled by the Divine.
Wilmslow referred to the old asylum. They’d discussed the sinister goings-on there many times during the past two years. “I agree there is something morbid about Morton Manor,” Christian said, eager to put paid to any lengthy conversation on the subject. “But I do not believe in witchcraft or superstition.”
That was not entirely true. He did not believe a house could be evil but often contemplated whether the adverse experiences of its occupants had a lasting effect on any future inhabitants.
“One cannot believe in God without acknowledging the Devil.” Wilmslow raised his hands. “I was simply going to suggest that your staff keep a diary of their whereabouts. Perhaps one of them ventured to the manor and contracted the illness there. Regardless of what you believe, many think the place is cursed.”
“Then perhaps we are in need of a few extra prayers.” Christian gestured to the hall in a bid to hurry the men along. “And yet they do not appear to have helped these last two years.”
“Have faith, my lord.” Wilmslow rose from the chair. “One must never lose hope. The Lord shall reveal his plan in due course.”
The reverend’s tone held the same pompous air often used by the righteous to cement their status as preaching windbags.
“Ah, Mrs Hibbet,” Christian said as they met the housekeeper in the hall. “Will you show Dr Taylor and Reverend Wilmslow to the servants’ quarters. I’ll be working in my study should there be anything you wish to discuss.”
Dr Taylor turned to him and bowed. “We’ll not trouble you when we leave, my lord. I’ll give Mrs Hibbet the tonic for the new maid.”
Christian inclined his head. “Then I shall say good day to you, gentlemen.”
He returned to the study, closed the door and examined the ledger. The monthly expenditure for his house in Berkeley Square failed to distract his thoughts from his impending visit to Morton Manor. Since Cassandra’s death, he’d avoided the place. Even so, the memory of all that occurred there was not as easy to ignore.
The clock on the mantel chimed once, and he contemplated whether there was time to eat before Rose knocked to say she’d completed the morning chores.
His thoughts wandered.
How would they get to the manor? Would they walk together in silence? Or would she tell him about the family tragedy that left her alone to fend for herself?
Dipping the nib of his pen into the ink pot, he recorded the bills for the last month into the leather-bound book.
Would they ride there together? Would she sit between his thighs with the wind whipping her hair?
The knock on the door pulled him from his fanciful musings.
Mrs Hibbet entered. “Just to let you know that Dr Taylor and Reverend Wilmslow have left. Both Jenny and Ann should be able to resume their duties in a day or two, and David can return to the stables tomorrow.”
“Let them rest until the end of the week.” He wondered if the problem with the continual reinfection stemmed from the servants rushing back to work. “But explain that they must remain confined to their room until we’re certain the illness has passed.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mrs Hibbet hovered at his desk, her lips pursed for there was obviously more she wanted to say. “And I … I thought you should know that the children like Rose.”
That was a contradiction. Alice liked most people. Jacob despised everyone.
“Rose has asked if she can tend to them,” Mrs Hibbet continued, “take them for their afternoon walk and sit with them when they do their sums.”
Christian contemplated the request.
“We know nothing about her. By her own admission, she ventured here by mistake.”
All the old fears and doubts resurfaced. Trust was not something he gave freely. After his experience with Mr Watson, the previous warden of the manor, it was not something he gave at all.
“People say I’m a good judge of character.” Mrs Hibbet straightened her shoulders. “And all I see when I look at Rose is a woman with a good heart who wants to please the children.”
“The children cannot afford any more disruption in their lives.”
God damn, he was a hypocrite. He was the one who’d hired one governess after another in the hope one of them would help ease their misery. Oh, he’d made a bloody mess of everything.
“Does that mean you won’t be hiring a replacement for Mrs Booth?”
“No.” The word slipped from his mouth. “You’re right. The children need to spend time with those they know and trust. Rose is a stranger.”
He wasn’t just thinking of the children. For some obscure reason, he didn’t want to frighten Rose away, and Jacob enjoyed testing those paid to care for them.
“Perhaps when we know her a little better,” he added noting the disappointment etched on Mrs Hibbet’s face. “I’m to escort Rose to Morton Manor. It’s only right we inform the housekeeper there of the change in her situation.”
As master of the house, he did not need to explain or justify his actions. But as expected, Mrs Hibbet’s mouth dropped open.
“You really are going to the manor then, my lord?”
“I am.” It was time to put the past behind him. Time to face his demons.
“But I assumed you’d changed your mind.” T
wo deep furrows appeared between Mrs Hibbet’s brows. “Rose has already left.”
“Left?” Fear trickled like ice-cold water through his veins. God damn, he’d told her not to go alone. “Did anyone accompany her?”
Macabre images of Miss Stoneway’s dead body, sprawled face up in the woods, flashed through his mind. The look of terror in the poor woman’s eyes visited him often in his nightmares.
“I don’t know, my lord. I presume she asked Dawkins.”
Christian shot out of the chair. “That will be all, Mrs Hibbet. I shall be out of the house for the next hour.”
Without further comment, he strode from the room and made his way to the stables. One glance inside the stalls, and he could account for all his staff. They must have thought he’d lost his faculties, racing about and mumbling to himself.
“Can I help you, my lord?” Jack stopped brushing the chestnut mare and waited for a reply.
“Saddle my horse and be quick about it. I’ve urgent business that cannot wait.”
Jack set to work straight away. Still, it wasn’t quick enough to ease the pounding in Christian’s chest.
What in hell’s name was wrong with him?
Rose was a maid on an errand. She was not Cassandra, not a woman hell-bent on causing mischief whenever the opportunity arose. And there were no patients at Morton Manor. Not anymore. But then the insane were not the ones they need fear.
Chapter Five
The ten-minute ride to Morton Manor passed by in a blur. The pressure in Christian’s head started as a mild pulsing in his temples, but the dull pain built until it mimicked the pounding of his horse’s hooves on the dirt track.
Had he not been galloping at full pace, he would have massaged the back of his neck to ease the mounting tension. And yet the odd sensations plaguing him were so different from those he’d experienced on the night he’d searched for Cassandra.
Fear made him lose his grasp on reality now. Anger had been the only thing driving him then, and perhaps a deep sense of disappointment. He’d known what to expect when he eventually found his wife and the warden. Cassandra had stopped arguing about his insistence she receive help for her anxiety. She’d gone from refusing to move from her bed to demanding the maid style her hair in a fancy coiffure. From being too tired to wash to bathing her body in exotic oils and dabbing her skin with expensive perfume.