A Loving Spirit

by Amanda McCabe

  Chapter 11

  "Don't they make a charming picture?" Lady Royce said, looking up from her embroidery to smile fondly across the drawing room at her son and Cassandra.

  Antoinette had retired after supper with a lingering headache, but the others had gathered in the drawing room. Phillip and Cassandra were seated together at the pianoforte, attempting a duet. Unfortunately, neither of them was particularly musical, and the discordant plonking noise echoed in the large room.

  Chat winced at an especially strident note, and laid down another card in her game of Patience. "Charming. But do you suppose they could engage in something quiet, like cards? Or reading?"

  "Then we could not admire your niece's talent at the pianoforte!" Lady Royce protested. "Every young lady should play a musical instrument, do you not agree, Chat?"

  "Almost every young lady," Chat murmured. She had to agree that Cassie looked very pretty bent over the ivory keys, her dark pink silk skirts spread about her. Chat only hoped that, with all the ghosts floating about the castle, Mozart did not choose to join them, full of wrath at the mangling of his concerto.

  "Miss Richards is a very pretty girl indeed," Lady Royce continued. "I must confess I had no idea what to expect, since she had spent so long away from England."

  Chat gave a little smile and laid down another card. "Did you think she would wear grass skirts or some such, Melinda?"

  Lady Royce blushed, ducking her head over her sewing. "Of course not! I just—wasn't sure."

  "Yes. Her parents were not precisely conventional, not like my older brother the viscount. I am not sure Cassandra would pass muster with the high sticklers at Almack's! But she has her own charms."

  "Oh, assuredly! She is very pretty, as I said. And obviously kindhearted." Lady Royce gave Chat a sly smile. "Phillip seems to like her a great deal."

  Chat looked back over at the young couple. They appeared to be quarreling over a piece of sheet music, with Cassie attempting to pull it out of his hands. "Oh, yes," she said wryly. "You can tell how much they like each other just by looking at them."

  "She seems just the sort who could make him come out of his library and into the world. He never would have left his books to go on a picnic before Miss Richards came here, let alone agree to a masked ball!" Lady Royce nodded decisively. "Yes, she is very good for him."

  But would he be good for her, Chat wondered. He did have a title and a tidy fortune. But Cassie had her own fortune and was such a free spirit. Could someone like Lord Royce make her happy?

  Chat's own comfortable marriage to Lord Willowby, which had lasted twenty harmonious years before his death, made her want nothing less for her niece. A title could not make deep incompatibilities just disappear.

  Still, she had to admit that they did look very handsome together.

  * * *

  "You are playing it all wrong!" Cassie said, taking the piece of now rather tattered music from Lord Royce's hand and putting it on the stand. "See these notes here and here? All wrong!"

  "My dear Miss Richards, I am not the one who is tone-deaf," he muttered.

  Cassie stared at him. "Look at the tin ear calling me tone-deaf! I thought earls were supposed to be gallant, or at the very least polite."

  "Very well! I am very sorry, Miss Richards. Please forgive me for my rudeness. Why don't you play the solo part, and I will turn the pages?"

  Cassie looked from him to the music doubtfully. The truth was, she was a bit tone-deaf, and had always detested the music lessons her father made her take. Only politeness to Lady Royce, who had asked her to play for them, had made her sit down at the pianoforte. She had not thought Lord Royce would join her there, and now her self-consciousness was making her rather testy.

  She gave him an apologetic little smile and said, "I do not really feel like playing anymore. Perhaps you would favor us with a song, and I will just go and sit down by the fire for a while."

  "As you wish, Miss Richards," he answered. "But I really do apologize for what I said. I am sure you are truly a masterful musician."

  "Apology accepted," she said with a laugh. "But flattery denied. I am really a horrible musician."

  "That cannot be true."

  Oh, but it was true. And what was worse, Cassie found as she went to sit down beside Lady Royce, Lord Royce was quite a competent musician. Not a Mozart, by any means, but tuneful and regular. Only trying to keep up with her had made him play in the wrong key.

  She had to laugh inwardly at herself, for always behaving like such a silly goose around him.

  "Your aunt and I were just talking about what your life must have been like before you came to England, my dear Miss Richards," Lady Royce said. "How interesting it must have been in Jamaica! And how very different from here."

  That was certainly undeniable. "It is rather different, yes."

  "But you did say that your parents gave a great many entertainments. There must have been some society there."

  "There were the families from the neighboring plantations, like Mr. Bates and his sister, and the Smith-Thompkins, and several people who lived in Negril. They came quite often to our house, and we went into town frequently. After Mother died, Father and I kept to ourselves more, but we still went to card parties and musicales, and even the occasional ball. No, there was no lack of society in Jamaica, Lady Royce."

  "You must have had a good many suitors, too," Lady Royce said, pretending great absorption in her embroidery.

  "A few," Cassie answered, thinking especially of the persistent Mr. Bates, who had come to the docks to propose one last time before she left.

  He had certainly been very different from Lord Royce, loud and boastful. He had probably never opened a book in his life.

  "But you accepted none of them?" Lady Royce persisted.

  "I did not care for any of them in that way."

  "Oh, yes, I see." Lady Royce chuckled. "Yes, I do see."

  Chat laughed.

  Cassie wondered what they were up to, but she was just too tired to puzzle it out at present. "I think I will just go check on Antoinette before I retire, if you will excuse me."

  "Oh, yes, dear, do," said Chat. "Make sure she has drunk the brandy and warm milk we sent up."

  "I will. Good night, Aunt Chat, Lady Royce." Cassie kissed her aunt's cheek, and left the drawing room with the strains of Mozart floating behind her.

  * * *

  Antoinette was not alone in her chamber. Sitting across from her at a small table, playing what appeared to be a game of Beggar My Neighbor, was Louisa. She was wearing a cloak tonight, a puffy blue satin affair, with the hood pushed back and her golden ringlets spilling free.

  "There you are," said Antoinette, studying the cards in her hand. "We've been waiting for you."

  Cassie went and sat down in the empty chair at the table. "Have you? For what?"

  "I thought you might like to meet Sir Belvedere tonight." Louisa laid down another card and crowed, "I win again! I suppose my card-playing skills are not so dormant as I thought."

  Antoinette shook her head. "It is not fair! You have had almost two hundred years to practice."

  "You've had practice, too, Antoinette," said Cassie. "We did nothing but play cards all those weeks on the ship from Jamaica. Now, tell me, is Sir Belvedere coming here to meet us?"

  "Oh, no," answered Louisa. "He still thinks it is improper to come to a living lady's chamber. We will go to the East Tower."

  "When? Now?"

  "Of course, if you are ready." Louisa pulled her hood up over her head, and glided toward the door. "Just follow me!"

  Then she disappeared through the solid door, leaving only a faint shimmer behind her.

  "We can scarcely follow you that way, now, can we?" Antoinette called, standing up and reaching with her stockinged feet for the slippers she had discarded.

  A merry laugh echoed, and Louisa stuck her head back through the door. "So sorry, my dears! Just a bit of ghost humor. Sometimes I simply cannot help myself."
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  * * *

  The East Tower was dark and chilly, since the maids did not go there to light fires or adjust the draperies. Only Antoinette's and Cassie's candles cast light into the shadows of the corners.

  Louisa settled herself in a chair next to the window and called out, "Sir Belvedere! Where are you? You have callers. I hope you have polished your armor up for them."

  There was a faint clattering noise, which grew louder and louder as they listened. Cassie could not tell where the sound was coming from, even though she twisted her head this way and that, peering into the gloom. Then there was one last, deafening clank, and a tall figure in armor appeared next to Louisa's chair.

  He pushed the visor back on his helmet, and Cassie saw that he was a rather handsome, if very pale, gentleman.

  "Fair ladies!" he cried, giving them a noisy, stiff little bow. "I am honored you came all this way to make my humble acquaintance."

  Cassie glanced at Antoinette, but her friend appeared to be as much at a loss as she was. What did one do with a ghost knight? Curtsy? Shake hands?

  She was every bit as puzzled as she had been when she first met Louisa.

  She ended up giving a small bob and saying, "How do you do? I am Miss Cassandra Richards, and this is Miss Antoinette Duvall."

  "Miss Duvall is going to find Lady Lettice for us," Louisa said.

  "Indeed! I have heard you have great powers, Miss Duvall," said Sir Belvedere, holding up his slipping visor to look at Antoinette. "Very great."

  Antoinette demurred. "Not very great. Not at all like my mother. But I will help you in any way I can. And I know that we would very much like to hear your story, Sir Belvedere."

  "Ah, my tale. 'Tis a sad one." Sir Belvedere sighed and lowered himself into the chair next to Louisa's. His legs stuck out stiffly in front of him.

  Louisa twisted one of her ringlets around her finger. "It is not as sad as all that. Not nearly as sad as my story."

  Sir Belvedere gave an indignant huff. "Getting drunk and falling down the cliff is not sad."

  "Neither is tripping on a loose stone and falling off the tower into the moat," Louisa retorted.

  Cassie watched them bickering, and wondered if there was something in the air of Royce Castle that caused silly arguments, like the one she and Lord Royce had had over the music.

  Then again, did ghosts even breathe air? She had no idea.

  And it appeared that this was a long-standing conversation between Louisa and Sir Belvedere. They just shook their heads and looked away from each other to smile at Cassie and Antoinette.

  Antoinette perched herself on the edge of the high bed. "I don't remember seeing a moat here," she said.

  "It was filled in after Louisa's time," Sir Belvedere explained.

  "My husband's brother's wife, who was Lady Royce after me, thought it smelled too foul," Louisa sniffed. "I rather miss it, though."

  Cassie sat down on the bed next to Antoinette, listening as Sir Belvedere went on to tell some tales of life at Royce Castle in the Middle Ages, and marveling at the entire strange scene. She had grown up surrounded by tales of spells and spirits, and had never doubted the existence of an unseen world. But she had never thought she would be sitting about casually conversing with two ghosts.

  And she would never have thought it would be so very ordinary. They chatted about all the other generations Sir Belvedere and Louisa had seen come and go, the ghosts that had stayed for a while and then gone on to nobody knew where. They talked of Cassie's and Antoinette's lives in Jamaica, about Antoinette's mother and Cassie's parents.

  It really could have been any tea party anywhere, if their fellow conversants had not been slightly glowing about the edges.

  Then the talk turned to the current living inhabitants of Royce Castle.

  "We quite like Lady Royce, don't we, Sir Belvedere?" Louisa said. "She's always trying to talk to us."

  "A fine lady indeed. Much better than her mother-in-law ever was," Sir Belvedere agreed. "You would have thought that a lady whose marriage was arranged by Lady Lettice would be more receptive to spirits, but no."

  "But Lady Royce's son is very different. Always so logical," said Louisa. She made "logical" sound like a rather dirty little word. "Always buried in a book. But he is fun to tease a bit."

  "We switch his papers about all the time," Sir Belvedere added. "He just thinks it is the housemaids, and asks his mother not to let them tidy in there anymore."

  Louisa laughed. "He always forgets that no one does clean in there! They stopped months ago." Then she turned a shrewd look onto Cassie. "I think Miss Richards rather likes Lord Royce, though."

  "Does she indeed?" Sir Belvedere said in a highly interested tone.

  "She thinks he looks like a dashing poet," Antoinette offered.

  "Antoinette!" Cassie cried, feeling her face grow warm. She pressed her palms to her cheeks. "Please."

  "Well, do you not think that?" Antoinette said innocently.

  "We could assist you," said Sir Belvedere. "Put some suggestions into his head, that sort of thing."

  "Oh, no! Thank you, but no," Cassie said hurriedly. That was the very last thing she needed; ghosts matchmaking for her.

  Antoinette then said, "He is not really her sort of gentleman, you see."

  And, without explaining who she did think of as her sort of gentleman, Cassie said good night and retired back to her own chamber.

  Chapter 12

  Once in her bed, though, Cassie found she simply could not sleep. The excitement of talking to the ghosts still hummed in her mind, and she tossed about for a long while remembering it.

  Finally, she gave up any attempt to fall asleep, pushed back the bedclothes, found her slippers and dressing gown, and went downstairs to the library.

  There she bypassed the shelf of novels and found the neat row of leather-bound books that bore Lord Royce's name on the spines. She pulled out the first volume and took it over to the desk.

  She sat in the thick silence of the night. Time stood still as she turned over the pages of the book. She wasn't sure what she had expected when she opened the volume, but not this complete absorption into another world.

  She had thought Lord Royce's work would be dry and academic, and it was certainly very learned. But it was also warm and vivid; it brought scenes of an ancient, long-dead place to life. She could almost see the public squares of Greece, where philosophers taught rapt young students and servants hurried to the marketplace bearing amphorae of olives and wine. It almost made her think of Jamaica.

  Cassie did not see the logic that Lord Royce claimed to hold so dear, but she did see much more. And she also saw that Lord Royce saw more, too. Probably more than even he realized. He saw the true vividness of life. Why, then, would he deny the richness of what was in his own home?

  Cassie was very puzzled. Both by Lord Royce and by herself.

  Then, as she eagerly turned over another page, she heard the soft click of the library door opening. She looked up and noticed, without much surprise, Lord Royce himself standing there, a pile of papers in his arms.

  Despite the slight chill in the air, he was in his shirtsleeves, his hair falling in a rumpled mass to his shoulders. He looked startled to see her there, and, for one second, the candle in his hand wavered.

  "Lord Royce," she said with a smile. "We really must stop meeting like this."

  "Miss Richards," he answered slowly. "I did not expect anyone to be about at this hour."

  "I could not sleep, so I came down here to find something to read."

  "And what did you find? A novel?" He came closer to the desk, put his candle down next to hers and the papers atop some books, and sat in the chair beside her. He smelled of clean soap and night air; his warmth and nearness was natural, comforting.

  "No. It is the first volume of your series on ancient Greece."

  "Indeed?" His dark brow arched. "What do you think of my work, Miss Richards? Too stuffy and academic?"

  Cassie
shook her head. "You are a very talented writer, Lord Royce," she said quietly. "I could almost imagine myself there."

  "That is a very kind thing for you to say."

  "It is not kindness. It is the truth. Through your words, I can see the marketplace in my mind. Smell the wine and olive oil, feel the Grecian sun on my face, and hear all the chatter and laughter." Cassie looked back down at the open book. "In a strange way, it reminded me of—of Jamaica."

  "Of Jamaica? Ancient Greece? In what way?"

  She wondered if he was making fun of her. After all, ancient Greece and Jamaica were really nothing alike. But when she glanced up at him, she saw only interest written on his face. "In the way so much of life is lived outdoors. In the warmth of the sun, and the diet of fish and fruit and wine. When I was a child, Antoinette's mother would take us to the market in Negril with her. I remember how much I loved that, how I loved the sights and smells, being surrounded by all the life..."

  Her throat grew tight, and she lapsed into silence.

  "You miss it very much, don't you?" he said quietly.

  "England is not so very bad," Cassie answered. "It has its own sort of life. But yes, I do sometimes get homesick, even now."

  "Why did you not stay on there?"

  "My parents were gone; Antoinette was all I had left. And Aunt Chat wrote so often, urging me to come stay with her. It seemed the best thing to do." Cassie ran her hand over the cool smoothness of the paper. "There are women who can run their own plantations and succeed. But I do not think I could be one of them."

  "I think you could do anything you set your mind to," he said.

  Cassie looked up at him, startled. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. No one had ever thought her capable, or sensible, or able to do much of anything. Even her parents and Antoinette, who loved her, never had. "You do? Truly?"

  "Truly."

  "Then I shall have to set my mind to something." She closed the book and looked down at his name embossed on the cover. "I wish I could write a book, like you."

  "You could probably write a grand horrid novel," he suggested. "Strange noises in the night, mysterious servants. Exotic ceremonies in seaside tunnels."