In its corner was a set of stairs. Mistress Miller was already climbing them, taking each step with a tap of her cane and a groan. With Master Wyatt, Peg and Brigit at their heels, Belle and Lucy started up after the housekeeper. When they reached the gallery Belle forgot all that was wrong to stare in pleasure. Oh, to be lady of such a place!
Sunlight flooded into the gallery’s wide corridor through its five windows, laying the pattern of the panes against white plastered walls and dark wood floor. Portraits hung along the inner wall, their frames gilded. There were so many they filled the gallery’s length. As tall as the ceiling, each window was nigh on deep enough to be a tiny chamber on its own. There was a seat in each oriel's bay, complete with a cushion. Two heavy chairs stood before one bay, as if to encourage a body to sit and enjoy the view.
Belle's awe grew as she counted doorways in the opposite wall. Seven private suites! Eight, if she added the gatehouse, and nine if another apartment hid behind the door in the curved stone wall at the gallery's end.
Mistress Miller had already started down the wide corridor, tapping rapidly past the first two doors. “This is where Master Kit stays when he’s home and that’s our lord's suite. You cannot have this one, either,” she pointed to the next door, “as that’s our steward's chamber.”
That left only four chambers from which to choose.
“Do any of them connect?” Belle asked as she trailed the woman, hoping for but a single door between her own chamber and Lucy’s nursery.
The old woman pivoted on her stick to look back at her new lady. “Aye,” she said, “but you cannot have those two. They're at the end of the gallery.”
Irritation flowed into Belle. Spine stiff she drew herself to her tallest, her jaw firm. “I don’t care where they're located. I want the adjoining chambers.” Her voice rang in the gallery clear, firm and commanding.
“You don’t,” the housekeeper argued. “’Tis there our ghost walks.”
Peg gasped. Brigit gave a tiny moan. Belle’s eyes flew wide. Oh, Lord! As if hostile servants and a husband who didn’t want her weren’t enough, there was a ghost as well? She drew Lucy closer.
“Truly, it isn’t necessary that we have adjoining chambers, my lady.” Brigit's voice trembled. “Perhaps the other two would be better?”
“Aye,” Peg managed. “It's no imposition to move from suite to suite, not when one can enjoy such a fine gallery.”
“There is no need to refuse those chambers,” Master Wyatt said, his tone irritated. “There’s no ghost.”
The old woman's chin jerked up as if in challenge. “You're an outsider here, Master James. You can’t know.”
James. Belle stared up into his face, all thought of spirits and hauntings departing. She’d forgotten that his given name was James. It suited him, unusual as it was, complementing his fine features and rare hair color.
“Say no more,” Master James warned the old woman.
She ignored him, her gaze slipping to her new lady as she spoke. “She’s the spirit of one of Graceton's ladies, left barren because her lord husband refused her bed in favor of his common mistress. Wanting to reclaim her lord’s affections, this lady did commit murder, ordering the slaying of the mistress and her lord’s bastards. When her noble husband discovered what his lady had done, he carried her to the top of yon tower.” The lift of her cane indicated the curved wall at the gallery’s end. Only then did Belle recognize it as the castle's corner tower.
“There, he threw her off the wall to her death. Take those chambers if you will but be warned,” the housekeeper continued. “Never follow our White Lady. She'll lead you to the wall and bewitch you into leaping off it. Twice before she's done it, both of them women forced into unhappy wedlock just as she was.” Her mouth twisted into a vindictive smile. “Just as you are.”
“Enough!” Master James shouted, the word thundering around them.
At his roar, Lucy loosed a frightened cry and burrowed into Belle's skirt. No such fear plagued her mother. Indeed, as grateful as Belle was for Master James's protection, she didn’t need it this time. The housekeeper should have ended her tale before she’d added that ridiculous codicil. Here was proof that all the woman had said before was nothing but another attempt to humiliate her new lady.
“I’ve endured your insolence and your bad temper for Squire Hollier's sake, but this goes beyond any toleration,” Graceton’s steward chided the housekeeper. “In spinning this lie to frighten his wife, you denigrate not only the squire, but his family and his house.”
“It's no lie,” the old woman retorted, sounding almost hurt at the accusation. “Ask any of the servants and they'll tell you what I say is true.”
His expression earnest, Master James looked at Belle. “My lady, I apologize on the squire’s behalf. Mistress Miller's rudeness passes all bounds. I'll have you know my office is in yon tower. I've kept it there for all of the ten years I’ve been Graceton’s steward, using that chamber both day and night. Not once in all that time have I seen anything remotely unnatural. Madam, if the adjoining chambers are the ones you want, I tell you that you have nothing to fear in taking them.”
Belle drew a relieved breath. His office would be next to her chambers. Aye, he was right. As long as he was close enough that her raised voice could bring him to her, there was nothing she need fear.
She looked at the housekeeper. “Those are the chambers I want and they're the chambers I'll have. See that my belongings are brought to me there. In two hours' time we'll want a meal. What we need now is warmed water, enough that each of us can have a fresh bath.”
The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed. Her chin jutted out. Belle fought her grin. They both knew she’d won this encounter, and the housekeeper was finding that hard to swallow.
The bend of the old woman’s head made a mockery of obedience. “As you will my lady, but it'll be only your own man serving you,” the old woman said with a haughty lift of her gnarled brows. “None of our folk will go to that end of the gallery.”
“They will if I have to walk the distance with them every time,” Master James retorted, his voice a blade. Turning, he fixed a piercing gaze on the two footmen behind them.
Whilst they’d waited on Belle to choose her room, they’d set the heavy chest upon the gallery floor. Richard stood behind the chest as impassive and silent as ever. Beside him the one named Watt was worrying his cap in his hands. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot as he glanced from the housekeeper to his steward.
At last, he gave a halfhearted shrug. “If none of the others will lift their sorry arms to aid the lady, it'll be me and John helping Richard, here.”
Mistress Miller’s eyes widened at this betrayal. Her mouth began to move, as if she needed to chew up his words before they choked her. She turned and started back toward the stairs.
“Don’t complain to me that you weren’t warned, my lady,” she threw over her shoulder as she went.
Belle watched her go then glanced at her womenfolk. Brigit was frowning after the old woman while Peg was in full glower.
Crossing her arms over her bodice, the maid’s brows rose. “What does that old hag think us, rustics to be driven off by a fanciful tale such as that? Of all the nerve! Lead on, my lady. Let's see what she meant to keep us from having. I’ve a suspicion those far chambers are finer than the other two.”
Beside Belle, Master James laughed, the sound low and rich. “Wise words and God's own truth. My lady, shall I escort you to your chambers?” Once more, he extended his elbow toward her.
“Me, too,” Lucy insisted, darting around her mother to stand beside the handsome man. “That is, if you please, Master Wyatt,” she amended with a quick bend of her knee.
Master James smiled and extended a hand. As Belle settled her hand into the crook of the steward's elbow, she leaned nearer to him. “Thank you for that,” she breathed, so Lucy wouldn’t overhear, then dared to ask for even more. “Master Wyatt, I mean no slur or complaint against my hu
sband’s household, but could you see that Richard's needs are met? I fear there may be a few here who would wish him ill-treated.”
“Another truth,” he returned, his voice as low as hers. “Aye, you have my word. No harm will come to him.”
Belle smiled. With Master James at her side, she would make this place her home.
The sun had almost set before there was a tap at Belle's new chamber door. Seated in one of the three chairs that now filled the sitting room, she squeaked, her heart nearly shooting from her chest. She clutched Lucy's new petticoat to her rose-colored doublet. It was time to meet her new husband.
Because Peg was busy with her dinner, Brigit rose to answer the door. As the governess swept past a tall candelabrum, the flames danced. Her green skirts whispered across the chamber's wooden floor. The door cried quietly as it opened. Far brighter light than that offered by their three candles flowed in to gild Brigit's pretty face.
She smiled. “Good evening, Tom,” she said to Master James's servant.
“Mistress Atwater,” he replied. “Lord Nicholas is ready to meet with your lady.”
Belle’s galloping heart slowed at this strange reference to the squire. Lord Nicholas? Why did Tom call him by the title he didn’t yet own? It was enough to restore at least a little of her equilibrium. Folding away Lucy's petticoat, she came to her feet and straightened her gray and pink skirts atop her farthingale.
“Enjoy your meal, my lady, Brigit,” Peg said with a smile.
A touch of irritation shot through Belle, an echo of this morn's uncharitable emotions. Enjoy your meal when she was off to meet a monster then sit in a hall filled with dozens of hostile servants? Catching up her gloves from her chair’s back, she joined Brigit in the gallery.
With Tom's great branch of candles cutting a wide circle in the growing dimness, they strode toward the squire's chamber. A moment later, Master James and Sir Edward appeared atop the stairs at the other end of the wide corridor. Like his servant, Master James also carried a branch of candles.
Belle watched him, liking the way the warm light traced his nose's fine line and marked the sharp arc of his brows. Beneath his brown cap, his hair glowed a burnished red. He'd not changed his dress for this evening's formal meal, only closed his shirt collar and tied a pair of brown sleeves into his doublet. It didn’t matter that Sir Edward fair glowed beside him in his rich garments. To Belle's eyes, Master James was by far the better looking man.
Both men offered Belle a bow. “My lady,” Master James said as Belle gave him a quick bob.
Sir Edward straightened with a tense smile. “Good evening, Lady Purfoy.”
He received no response for his effort. It was an intentional slight. If Sir Edward retained any hope she'd ever forgive him his rudeness, he’d killed it the moment he’d walked away from the fallen Richard without a backward look.
With so many candles to light the gallery, Belle saw surprise play across the knight's face. She lifted her chin. If he were the sort of man who thought nothing of abusing those beneath him, he'd hardly understand another of his class despising him for it.
Although Brigit was no happier over the knight's behavior than Belle, her own social standing left her no choice but to be respectful. “Good evening, Sir Edward, Master Wyatt,” she said as she curtsied to them both.
“Mistress Atwater,” Master James said, “if you'll follow Tom, he'll lead you to the hall. I, your lady, and Sir Edward will shortly join you.”
Brigit nodded and followed the servant. Master James opened his chamber door and all Belle’s fear and nervousness came rushing back. The sitting room within was nearly full dark, with only a single candle upon the hearth's mantel. What sort of man sat comfortably in such darkness?
Squinting, she peered into the chamber, trying to sort shadow from shape. A subtle gleam shone out from behind the candle, teased from the two silver cups that stood behind it. Aye, and behind them was a jug, its outline dark and solid. Two small chairs, actually nothing more than the same sort of cushioned, backed stools that Belle now had in her own sitting room, hunkered in the chamber’s center. A single small table stood between them.
“Madam, pray enter,” Master James said gently, the movement of his arm inviting her to precede him into the chamber.
Belle’s heart leapt like a hare at the chase. She crept slowly into the room. Once inside she saw the third chair. Positioned in the corner, it was more massive than the others, with a tall back meant to protect the occupant from draughts. Belle tensed, more sensing than seeing the man who sat in its shadowy depths.
Master James and Sir Edward entered behind her. The door closed. Heralded by the glow from his candles, Graceton’s steward started across the room. As he came abreast of Belle, the light reached into the chair in the corner and the man seated within it came to vibrant life. His attire was red, his stockings white, his shoes black.
Belle's dread returned full force. There was nothing to see of his features or his hair. It was a black velvet mask, not unlike the sort executioners wore, that covered his head, reaching well below his chin. Two holes cut in the mask marked where his eyes should have been while a slit cut across it for his mouth.
Belle frowned a little as Master James set his branch of candles on the hearth near the cups, trying to peer past the squire’s velvet shield to discern something of the face it hid. There was a glint behind the mask’s eye slits and then their gazes met. The squire's mask shifted on his face, suggesting that his eyes narrowed.
Belle flinched. Her gaze leapt to a spot above his head. May the Lord save her, but she'd been staring at the squire while he watched her do it! Mortified by her behavior, which she would never have tolerated of Lucy, she dropped into a deep curtsy.
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Squire Hollier,” she managed, her voice trembling.
“And I yours, Lady Purfoy.”
It took Belle a moment to decipher his words. Not only was his pronunciation slurred, his voice was without inflection. Was this because of his disability or had she insulted him?
Master James came to stand beside his employer's chair. “My lady, would you care to sit?” he offered.
“If the squire wills,” she whispered, not wishing to do her new husband any further slight.
“I do indeed,” the squire seconded.
Belle turned to the two chairs at the room’s center. Arranged to face the corner, they sat just inside the circle of light thrown by the candles. The rustle of her skirts seemed overly loud in the silent room as she claimed the one farthest from her husband.
As she settled onto its cushioned seat she glanced behind her for Sir Edward. The knight still stood at the door. It was a moment before she realized he expected Squire Hollier to rise and offer the bow due him both as a knight and the queen's proxy. Aye, and it wasn’t patience that bade him wait. With his chin lifted to an aggressive angle, affront nigh on wafted from him.
A childhood spent in a household of schemers and liars had accustomed Belle to being a mouse in the corner, to disappearing into insignificance when necessary. Now, she shrunk into herself, her gaze fixed on the room's empty hearth as she listened to the distant shouts and calls rising from the hall as the servants gathered for their meal.
Still no one spoke. She glanced at the squire. He watched the knight; or rather his masked face was aimed in that direction. If there was nothing to read in the subtle glint of the eyes behind his disguise, his gloved hands lay easily on the chair's arms. There was something in the way he held himself in the chair that spoke of innate confidence.
No matter the force of his will, he was painfully thin. Plain Belle was, but at least she wasn’t trapped in a weak body. Surely, Sir Edward didn’t expect an invalid to rise and offer him this customary courtesy.
Long after the quiet had stretched into uncomfortable territory the squire said, “Welcome to Graceton, Sir Edward. My pardon, but I fear I cannot rise and greet you as another might.”
As she puzz
led out his words Master James sent his employer a sharp glance and shifted uneasily beside the chair. This teased curiosity out from beneath Belle’s nervousness; had Master James been expecting his employer to stand?
“Then you must not rise,” Sir Edward said, his tone far more gracious than Belle expected.
The knight started across the room, his gold-tipped ribbons jingling faintly with his movement. He halted near the empty chair to offer a brief bow. “I’ll bid you well met, Squire Hollier, and call us greeted. Now that the formalities have been addressed, shall we repair to the hall and discuss the upcoming ceremony over the meal?”
“Would that I could,” the squire said with a subtle shake of his masked head. “Unfortunately, my disability makes it impossible for me to leave my chambers. If there's aught to discuss we must do it here. Please, sit and take your ease whilst we speak.” A faint air of amusement seemed to shift the mask on the squire’s face.
Sir Edward frowned as he sank into the empty chair. “As you will.” His words were nearly a growl.
“Might I offer you drink?” the squire asked.
Even before the words were out of his mouth, Master James turned to the hearth. The steward filled the two waiting cups from the jug. Belle took hers and sipped. It was a good wine, not in the least thick or bitter.
Sir Edward shot her a sharp glance. “Do you drink without offering to Her Majesty's health?” he chided.
Choking, Belle nearly fumbled her cup in her haste to bring it from her mouth. Sir Edward raised his then paused.
“But what of you, Squire? Will you not also drink to Her Grace?” Again, that dangerous intensity filled his expression as he tested his host’s loyalty. It was quite the battle they fought between them, their weapons words and silences instead of swords.
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