The Lost Lord of Black Castle (The Lost Lords Book 1)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “The servants heard Edmund state that it was Christopher who attacked him. They are unaware that he has a double roaming these halls, though some may suspect… which means that if Christopher returns here, I cannot predict how things will go.”

  “Do you think this man is a danger to him?” Lady Agatha asked.

  “I think this man is a danger to us all,” Graham insisted. “I think he is behind the attempts on Beatrice’s life, on mine, and behind the poisoning that you endured, though I strongly suspect that Eloise had a hand in that. His goal, if we are correct, is ultimately to take Christopher’s place.”

  “If he eliminates Graham, and Edmund, and all of us, the servants can be dismissed and he can assume Christopher’s role as the heir to Castle Black and the title,” Beatrice said. “His goal is to take control of everything here.”

  The gravity of what she’d said penetrated the haze of grief and illness that hung over Lady Agatha. “Do what you must to keep him safe… to keep us all safe, by whatever means necessary.”

  Graham nodded. “Remain here until I return for you, Beatrice. I hope I do not need to stress how imperative it is that you all remain safely in these chambers and that neither Eloise nor Christopher is to be permitted entrance.”

  “We are neither helpless nor halfwits,” Beatrice protested.

  He cocked an eyebrow and gave her a quelling glance. “Then you will not balk at heeding sound advice simply because it offends your pride.”

  “We will remain here… all of us,” Lady Agatha said, effectively curbing any further argument.

  Graham turned on his heel and left the room to seek out Dr. Warner.

  *

  Beatrice seethed and not quietly. “He is ridiculously high-handed!”

  “He is concerned for you,” Lady Agatha protested. “As he should be! He is Lord Blakemore and you, along with everyone else in this house, are his responsibility.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I would prove infinitely more useful out there than in here. We have a limited number of people who are privy to what may really be going on in this house!” Beatrice protested.

  “And if you were out there, searching through tunnels and abandoned rooms, looking for this man, what would that do to Graham but distract him?” Lady Agatha argued. “I will not lose anyone else to this fiendish plot, Beatrice. I will not allow you to take undue risks and I will not allow you to place Graham at risk by distracting him from the task at hand! Let him handle this because I have little doubt that, as a man, he is far more equipped to deal with a villain in a physical confrontation than we are.”

  It had not helped Edmund, Beatrice thought grimly. A fair shot, a frequent visitor to Gentleman Jackson’s when in London and more than handy with a sword, Edmund should have been able to properly defend himself.

  “I know what you are thinking,” Lady Agatha said. “He caught Edmund by surprise. That is all. Graham will not be taken unawares… go to the desk a fetch my cards. We will amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

  “I’ve no intention of playing parlor games at a time like this!”

  “And neither do I. Those cards are not for games of chance… they are for divination. It is a skill I have not practiced for some time, but I daresay I am still capable,” Lady Agatha insisted. “Fetch them, please.”

  Beatrice sighed and did as the older woman had bid her. It had been ages since she’d seen Lady Agatha consult her cards, so long, in fact, that she’d forgotten the habit.

  The deck of cards was wrapped in cloth and stored neatly in one of the drawers. After retrieving them, Beatrice returned to the small settee and passed them to Lady Agatha. “Where did you ever pick up such a skill?”

  “From my old nurse,” Lady Agatha replied. “When I was a young girl, she did this… in secret, of course. If my father had known, she would have been sacked without a thought. At any rate, when I was old enough that a nurse was deemed no longer necessary for me, she stayed on for a bit as a companion and then retired entirely when I was to be wed to Lord Nicholas… she taught me how to read cards and left hers with me.”

  “Do you really believe it works?” Beatrice asked skeptically.

  Lady Agatha smiled coyly. “These cards have told me for years that my son was still alive.”

  “Coincidence,” Beatrice insisted.

  “Perhaps… but I didn’t get them to read my fortune, Beatrice. Today,” Lady Agatha stated dramatically, “we will be reading yours.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Graham found Warner in the small work room he’d set up near the conservatory. There was an array of bottles and concoctions spread out on the table before him.

  “What is all this?” he asked.

  “These are the ‘medications’ that quack had prescribed to Lady Agatha in various stages of experimentation and disassembly.”

  “And?”

  “Most of these tonics are little better than cheap spirits. I’m allowing the alcohol to evaporate and then we will see what’s left,” Warner answered. “Are you here to question my methods or to let me attempt Mesmer’s technique?”

  Graham waved his hand at the mess on the table. “I am not here to question your methods or to undergo such experimentation. I’m here to ask a question, but in order to do so, I will have to relay very damaging information about Lady Agatha. I need your word that you will not repeat it.”

  Warner placed his instruments back on the table. “You have it, of course.”

  Graham nodded. “Christopher is my half-brother, fathered by her lover while she and my father resided in France.”

  “I can certainly see how that would be damaging information,” Warner agreed. “But given that your father is already passed and Christopher is no longer in line for the title, why should it signify?”

  Graham worded his response very carefully. “Perhaps I am not Christopher’s only half-brother… is it possible for half-siblings to look so much alike they could pass for one another?”

  Warner sat down heavily in one of the chairs that had been provided for him. “It is possible, of course. It is unlikely, but not impossible. With you, you have dark hair as both your mother and father did, too, according to Lady Agatha. Christopher’s blond hair is certainly out of character for the family, but it could be a throwback to someone on your mother’s side.”

  “Or to his father, who was blond, as well.”

  Warner shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it could. Do you think this has something to do with whoever has been attempting to poison Lady Agatha? And of course, the events that befell poor Mr. Blakemore. By the way, I’ve sent for Dr. Shepherd. I mean to question him about why he drugged her without her knowledge. Perhaps that information might be of use to you in discerning whatever it is that is going on here and who might be responsible.”

  Graham took the other chair. “Someone is slowly poisoning Lady Agatha, someone pushed Beatrice from a rock formation at the beach and left her to drown, Edmund was shot and left for dead and when I was returning from York after coming to see you, someone took a shot at me… and Beatrice has seen someone in the house who looks enough like Christopher to be his twin.”

  “And how does she know it was not Christopher?” Warner countered.

  “Because immediately afterward she ran into Christopher on the stairs. It would have been impossible for him to be in both places at one time… there is a word for this, German. Doppelgänger. Do you know it?”

  “Ghostly double? Of course, I do. I’ve heard it and know what it means,” Warner said. “But I’ve yet to encounter anything like that in all my years practicing medicine or traveling the world. Do you really believe this is what’s happening here?”

  Graham considered his answer very carefully. “The other option is that Christopher himself is responsible for these crimes… for Lady Agatha’s sake, I can only hope that is not true. And I trust Beatrice’s judgement. She is not given to flights of fancy or untruths.”

  Warner
eyed him curiously. “You’ve become very close to her in a very short time.”

  “I remember very little about growing up here… the few flashes of memory that I have experienced have all been centered around her. Whatever my feelings for her are, I do not believe that they are new.”

  “Let us try Mesmer’s technique… it will only take a few moments and perhaps something will come to light that will further cement your claims here.”

  Graham wanted to say no, but he was also curious. He wanted to be certain. He wanted everyone else to be certain as well. “Five minutes.”

  “Ten,” Warner countered. “And then whatever it is that you wish me to do, we will get on with it. I do not believe for a single moment that you came here only to ask questions.”

  Graham wanted to refuse. In part, it was sparked by his belief that Mesmer and his techniques were ridiculous. But another part of him feared both that he would remember and that he would not. If he remember things that conflicted with his current belief that he was Lord Blakemore, what then? Or if he underwent the experiment and nothing changed?

  “Fine. Get on with it,” he relented.

  Warner rose then, gathered items that he needed and then dragged a small table over to them. On it, he placed a bowl filled with water and various bits of metal and on each corner of the table he placed a magnet. A single candlestick was placed behind the bowl and lit.

  “Take these,” Warner said, holding out two metal rods. “Hold one in each hand, close enough to the table to feel the draw of the magnets, but not enough to let them touch.”

  Graham did as instructed with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. “I will go on record as stating that all of this is utterly ridiculous.”

  “They are trappings… physical things to distract the body and allow the mind to focus. That is all,” Warner explained. “If you can focus without them, I can remove them.”

  “No. Let’s just get on with it,” Graham relented and followed the instructions he’d been given.

  “Work on keeping the rods equidistant from the magnets… good. Focus on that, but don’t look at them. Instead, look into the flame of the candle. Follow the dancing of it with your eyes.”

  Graham watched the flame, flickering up and down, left and right, all the while keeping the metal rods from touching the magnets. It was more difficult than he’d imagined it would be. The longer he stared into the flame, the heavier his eyes felt.

  Warner took a small instrument and struck the edge of the bowl until it emitted a tone that resonated throughout the room. “Tell me about the day you were rescued by Captain Smith.”

  “I was thirsty,” Graham said. “I’d lain in that boat for days. The nights were so cold I thought I’d freeze and then the sun would beat down during the day until I’d long for the cold… I was surrounded by water and not a drop of it to drink. But it rained… it rained one of those days and I lay there in the boat with my mouth opened, catching all the water I could.”

  “How many days?”

  “Three, I believe… I was going into the fourth when I heard the ship. Tried to call out, to ask for help but I was too weak. Didn’t matter. They’d seen me anyway.” With his body focused, muscles intent on the task he’d been given, and his other senses focused on the flame and the hum that still reverberated around him, Graham felt the reality of the present slipping from him and the past clawing at him.

  “Where you were before that small boat?”

  “A larger ship… in a storm. It pitched and rolled and I was sick from it. We all were. I heard one of the crew say it wasn’t seasickness. They said it was poison.”

  “Who else was with you? Who else was ill?”

  “Mother was ill. Father wasn’t. It never bothered him… no matter how rough the waves or how the boat pitched and rolled, he was unfazed by it.”

  “Your father… what was his name?”

  Graham stared into the flame, but he no longer saw it. Instead, he saw his father leaning over him in the bunk. Tall, strong, his dark hair beginning to silver—Lord Nicholas had scooped him into his arms and made for the deck amid a cacophony of shouting and splintering wood. Cold water had rushed around them.

  The metal rods fell from his hands, crashing onto the small table and sending the other items askew. Abruptly, Graham rose.

  “That’s enough. That’s enough for today,” he said breathlessly.

  “You remembered.”

  “It isn’t proof! I may only be remembering what I wish to,” he said. “I want Lord Nicholas Blakemore to be my father because that memory substantiates my claims.”

  “Then let us ask Lady Agatha about the journey… about the seasickness and the rumors of poisoning! We can verify what you saw!” Warner protested.

  “Later,” Graham agreed. “Later… for now, I need you keeping watch on Eloise. She’s the key to all of this. I’d stake my life on it. I am sending one of the servants into the village with a note for Christopher.”

  “Asking him to return?”

  Graham shook his head. “I need him back here, so the note will instead insist that he remain where he is for the moment. That’ll ensure a speedy return.”

  Graham paused before continuing. “So what next? I need you to keep watch. Eloise will likely make a break for it… and I am headed for the tower room. I’ll have to overpower him.”

  “No. You won’t.” Warner took a small bottle from the work table behind him. “There’s enough laudanum in this bottle to knock out an elephant. I’m assuming he stashes some brandy or wine in his little turret?”

  Graham grinned. “There’s a hefty amount of brandy in there… come. I’ll add it to his stash while you monitor Eloise. She may try to warn him or she may simply try to make a run for it. It’s anyone’s guess with her.” Growing serious again, Graham added, “Thank you, Warner. For everything.”

  “Are we not friends?” Warner countered. “Is this not what friends do, but help one another?”

  “I’ve never had friends,” Graham admitted, “Or if I did, the memory of it is buried.”

  “Even on the ship where you served for so long?”

  “No,” Graham said. “I was mistrusted… my mannerisms and speech set me apart from the others. And I was considered high-handed and difficult.”

  Warner laughed at that. “You still are… you still are.”

  *

  Beatrice frowned at the cards. “You’re making it up as you go along because you are trying to influence my thoughts and feelings!”

  Lady Agatha drew back, affronted. “I would never dream of saying anything that was not an accurate representation of the cards… the Two of Cups has always meant a proposal! Always. Would it be so terrible if he were to ask?”

  “He has already asked! No. Actually, he has not asked. He has informed. He has assumed. He has ordered! And I have said, unequivocally, no. Because, as we both know, I am not the sort of bride he needs.” It was an argument she’d made countless times and, yet, every time she uttered the words she did so with less and less conviction.

  “And what sort of bride is that, Beatrice?”

  “A wealthy one! The castle needs a ridiculous number of repairs, the village is in dire straits, and I haven’t a cent to my name… would you have him marry me only to lose the home that he has only just returned to?”

  Lady Agatha waved her hand dismissively. “Pish posh! This castle has stood for more than five hundred years! It will likely stand a few hundred more… the village will rebound as it always has in the past. And as for his home, I strongly suspect that Graham will view home as any place where you are. I would rather see him happy and loved than miserable in an eligible match.”

  Beatrice looked down at her hands, clasped together in her lap. “I had not thought to marry… well, I had not thought it in years. I am independently-minded, Lady Agatha, and he is a high-handed and imperious man. What if every day is a battle between us?” Once the words were out, she recognized that every argument she’d
made against their marriage had been an excuse. It was fear and nothing more. Not that her reasons lacked validity, but she had to admit she’d been hiding behind them nonetheless.

  Lady Agatha smiled then. “My dear, then every day will be an opportunity to reconcile. Loving someone is not always peaceful or tranquil… in fact, if it were only that, it would be rather boring! There is fire in you to match his and he needs that. And you need it! If you would have ever thought yourself to be content with a peaceful marriage, I daresay you would have married years ago. You have been waiting for him, my girl. Do not let fear hold you in its sway now.”

  The truth of that statement was undeniable. She was a perverse creature, Beatrice realized. She’d denied every suitor she’d had during her seasons because she’d deemed them too staid and boring. Graham was anything but and still she found herself reluctant to commit.

  “What if I am not meant to be a wife? Not every woman is, I think.”

  “You are mistaken if you think that, my dear. Being a wife does not, or should not, mean changing who you are. Rather, when marriage is undertaken for the right reasons, it’s about finding someone to share your life with who knows your true self and loves you for it… he does love you. And I think, without question, that you love him. Find your courage! Do not let fear deprive you both of the happiness you deserve.”

  Beatrice looked down at the card again, at two lovers drinking from one cup. “I’m not certain that I can.”

  “You will never know if you do not try, my dear. I have never thought you a coward… be brave now and seize all that you desire. Live without regret and take all the joy that life can offer you,” Lady Agatha urged. “You only have to look at poor Edmund to see what happens when one marries for duty and position rather than love.”

  “That’s unfair, Lady Agatha.”