by Jane Charles
What was it that drew him to her? They only met a day or so ago, yet he knew, if he were alive, she would be the one. Could it be because she was the only person who could see him? His only contact with the living world? Had they met while he was alive, would he have noticed her, courted her, married her?
Yes! The word screamed through his brain. Damn you, Blake, for not introducing me to your sister so I could have known her in life.
His mother told him to hold out for the right lady and that he would know when he met her. Patrick had scoffed at the idea. His mother was a romantic and believed one should only marry for love, that Society had it all wrong. Marriages contracted to unite two families, build estates and make connections only delivered misery to the couple joined.
Patrick assumed one day he would meet a lady he could like well enough to spend the rest of his life with, ignorant of how short that life turned out to be. Perhaps in time deeper feelings would even develop. However, one look into Laura’s eyes confirmed everything his mother had told him. He knew that if he were alive, he would be using everything in his power to convince her to marry him.
As it was, he never wanted her to leave him. But to make such a request was extremely selfish. Laura was alive and deserved to know the love of a gentleman. Deserved to be spoiled and bring children into the world. To grow old and happy, just as his parents had done.
Mother and Father. “Do they know I’m dead? My brother and sisters?” His panic renewed. Patrick hadn’t seen them in months. Not since before he sailed. Had he visited when his ship landed?
No. He had hired a horse and began his journey to Laura immediately because of Blake.
“I never got to say goodbye,” he whispered into the room as sadness and pain squeezed his heart.
Laura awoke to sunlight streaming into her chambers. She glanced to the other side of the room. Patrick was still there, watching her. His arms were folded over his chest, long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankles. “Good morning,” she greeted with a smile.
He grinned back. A lock of black hair fell across his brow. “Good mornin’.”
“Have you been sitting there the entire time?”
“I did leave momentarily to check on the fire. All is well,” Patrick responded as he stood.
“Thank you, but you must have been very bored.”
A mischievous smile formed as Patrick sauntered forward. “Ya were entertainin’.”
Goodness, did she talk in her sleep? Did she talk about him?
“Ya have the most delicate snore, more of a sniffle, when ya sleep.”
Affronted, Laura straightened. “I do not snore.”
His grin widened. “Oh, yes, ya do. But not loud enough that it would keep a bed partner awake.” He winked. “Ya also talked.”
Mortification set in. “Don’t tell me.” She didn’t want to know what she said. Just knowing she did mutter something was enough.
“But it was music to me ears.” He stopped before her and knelt to one knee. “Had I known you felt so strongly. . .”
Laura resisted the urge to fan her face, or find a wet cloth to cool the burn. She bit her tongue to keep from asking what she said.
He folded his hands across his heart and fluttered his eyelashes. “Oh, Patrick, I love you. I do.”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t. . .”
He laughed. “No.”
Laura threw a pillow at him. It sailed through his body and landed against the wall before it slid to the floor.
Patrick laughed again and settled on the edge of the bed. His face sobered as he reached for her hand. His was cold, but she found comfort in his light touch, even if it wasn’t solid.
“I want ya to tell your uncle what ya saw early this mornin’.”
She had considered doing so herself but changed her mind. “It will only worry him.”
“He needs to know how close these men came to the house, and that one of them saw ya.”
A shiver ran down her spine. She would never forget the dark, cold, almost evil eyes that looked up at her and that grin. “Very well.”
There was a light tap at the door before it opened and Janie entered, carrying a tray. “I’ve got your chocolate, Miss Chetwey.”
“Thank you.”
Janie set the cup on the table beside the bed and eyed the poker. “Miss?”
Her face heated. “I got frightened in the middle of the night. Silly, I know.”
Her maid shook her head. “Not silly at all, Miss Chetwey. We are all a bit on edge.” She walked to the wardrobe, stopping before the pillow. She turned to Laura, a question in her eyes.
“Restless night.” Laura held up her hands so Janie could toss it to her.
Patrick chuckled and Laura did her best to ignore him.
Janie opened the armoire and Laura picked up the cup. Patrick leaned forward to inhale the aroma and closed his eyes. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to smell but not taste.
“How about the blue today?” Janie held a light blue morning gown, a hopeful look on her face. Aunt Ivy had probably put the suggestion into Janie’s mind.
“I can’t. Not when my brother could be dead.”
“He is not,” Patrick argued.
Laura jerked toward him. “Are you certain?”
“Miss?” Janie inquired, her eyebrows furrowed.
She focused back on her maid, her mind clamoring to come up with a reason of why she was speaking to nothing.
“I can’t remember, but I know he is not dead,” Patrick insisted.
Laura bit her lip, watching Janie while trying not to react to Patrick’s voice. Her maid was already concerned about her sanity and Laura didn’t want to give her further reason to be. If what Patrick was saying was true, then she need not be mourning. Oh, she hoped with all of her heart he was right. She sighed and answered. “Very well, I shall wear the blue.”
“Very good, Miss Chetwey.” The maid brightened and draped the dress across the foot of the bed before pulling out undergarments from the dresser.
“The blue will look lovely on ya,” Patrick whispered.
Laura’s face heated and she sipped the chocolate. She should be scandalized to have a gentleman sitting on her bed while she enjoyed her morning beverage, but there was something right and perfect about having him here. Had they met in life, would they have married? Would this have been a normal morning for them?
Sadness swept over her. She would never know. She put the cup aside and got out of bed.
“Let me help you dress.”
Patrick leaned back on the bed, supporting his empty weight with his elbows. “Yes, do get dressed for the day, Miss Chetwey.”
“Not while you are in here.”
“Pardon?” Janie stepped back, hurt in her eyes, a chemise clutched to her chest.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean you.” She glanced back at Patrick. If she weren’t mad already, he would soon drive her to Bedlam. Or at least the servants would be convinced she belonged there. “I have many thoughts going on in my head.”
Janie relaxed and placed the chemise on the bed beside the dress. When Janie busied herself at the dressing table, Laura nodded toward the door and mouthed out.
Patrick sighed and stood. “Very well.” He stopped when he reached the door, a hopeful pout on his lips.
“Now.”
“I am sorry, Miss Chetwey. I will hurry.”
Patrick chuckled and disappeared.
Tension gripped her head. If this continued, she would have a megrim before the day was done. “I wasn’t . . . never mind. I had a long night.”
“Yes, miss.” Janie kept her head down and hurried about her activities to ready Laura for the day.
Should she try to explain to her maid there had been a ghost in here, and that was who she’d ordered out of her chambers? No, Janie would either think she was insane, or believe her and run screaming from the room. If the staff thought the ghost no longer confined to the east wing, would th
ey quit their positions? That wouldn’t do at all and they’d probably blame her for letting him out. She would just have to do her best to ignore Patrick when others were around.
Patrick waited for Laura in the breakfast room where her aunt and uncle were already seated and enjoying their morning meal. Upon her arrive, he pulled away from the wall where he had been leaning and met her halfway into the room. He put a hand at the small of her back and escorted her to the table. When they reached her seat, Patrick attempted to pull out her chair, but his hand slipped through the wooden back. With a sad smile she stepped aside for the footman already waiting to assist.
“Good morning, dear.” Aunt Ivy brightened. “The blue looks lovely on you. I am so glad you have chosen to wear a new color. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.” Aunt Ivy had regained some of the color she lost yesterday and her hands no longer shook. Perhaps she should wait and tell her uncle in private what she had seen.
Uncle Edmond barely glanced at her over his paper, and then he grunted before he went back to reading.
The footman poured a cup of tea and placed a plate of food before her. Patrick slid into the chair at her side. It was odd eating in front of him, but it wasn’t as if he could partake.
“You need to say somethin’,” Patrick reminded her.
“Shush,” she hissed back.
“Did you say something, Laura?”
“I am sorry, Aunt Ivy. I was just thinking out loud.” She really wished Patrick would not talk to her while there were other people in the room. She would need to discuss this with him. Surely, he would understand that answering him in the presence of others would be disturbing to everyone present.
“Tell Torrington.”
“Fine,” Laura whispered and then smiled at her aunt who watched her closely. A frown marred her brow.
“Uncle Edmond?” She sipped her tea and waited for his response. Her uncle enjoyed his morning post and it was not unusual for him to finish reading whatever held his attention before he acknowledged others. As a child she’d thought he simply ignored everyone. That was not so, he simply put them off. Laura would wait. She turned her attention to the food on her plate. It was the same meal she had been served each morning since her arrival: herring, eggs, ham and toast. She really could do without the herring and had asked that it not be added to her plate. Yet, there it was on her plat every morning, regardless. Laura used her fork to move it off to the side, away from the food she did enjoy.
“No herring?” Patrick leaned toward the plate and sniffed. He grimaced and leaned back. “I understand.”
Laura schooled her features, as her aunt still had a close eye on her, and took a bit of her ham.
As was their morning ritual, those gathered ate in silence after the greeting. Her uncle preferred silence so he could read while he enjoyed his meal. Neither Aunt Ivy nor Laura spoke a word until he folded his paper and placed it on the table. By the time he did this, Laura had eaten everything before her, with the exception of the herring, and patiently waited. Thank goodness Patrick remained silent beside her.
“What did you wish to speak with me about, Laura?”
“I saw a man in the garden early this morning.”
Her uncle straightened. Aunt Ivy’s cup rattled as she placed it on the saucer.
“When was this?” he asked. “How did you see him?”
She explained how she couldn’t sleep, had gone to write, and what she’d seen.
Aunt Ivy clutched her hands together, her face pale.
Her uncle leaned forward. “Did he see you?”
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
“Oh, dear. We will be murdered in our sleep,” her aunt cried.
“Oh, hush, Ivy. That will not happen.” Her uncle muttered something under his breath then focused back on Laura. “Perhaps I should send you back to your home.”
“No,” Laura argued without thought. As much as she did want to be in comfortable surroundings, she didn’t want to leave Patrick. He haunted Torrington Abbey and she was fairly certain he could not leave. She would ask, but if he had to stay here, so would she. “I want to be here.”
“And I should go with her,” Aunt Ivy added as if Laura hadn’t spoken.
“Neither one of us are leaving.” She needed to remain firm in this decision. At least until she knew if Patrick could leave.
“I am afraid it is too dangerous,” her uncle insisted.
“You’ve assured me nobody can get into the house.”
“That is true, but can I really keep you and Ivy safe?” He rubbed his temples and leaned back in the chair. “Tompkins!” he bellowed.
The butler rushed into the room. “Yes, Lord Torrington?”
“I want a footman at each door every minute of every day.”
“Very good, sir.”
He turned and paused briefly to nod at the two footmen standing in the room. They followed Tompkins out of the room, leaving the family alone. “I don’t have enough servants to keep you safe. As it is you can’t leave the house.”
Perhaps it would be better if she went home. She glanced to Patrick. He studied her.
“Hire more,” he whispered.
Why hadn’t she thought of that? Laura focused on her uncle. “Could you hire a few more men?”
“Not men,” Patrick whispered in her ear. “Soldiers.”
“Soldiers.”
Uncle Edmond raised his eyebrows. “Soldiers?”
Why? His eyes bore into hers. She didn’t know the answer.
Patrick leaned close and she repeated, verbatim what he said to her. “I’ve heard there are a number of soldiers out of work. Now that Napoleon is no longer a threat, hundreds of soldiers have returned to England, but there is not enough work for all of them.”
“He may still be a threat,” her uncle argued.
Laura straightened. “How can that be? He is on Elba.”
Her uncle sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “I know.” He sighed. “Even if we do not have to concern ourselves with that emperor any longer, there are still other wars being fought.”
“And soldiers returning home in need of work,” Laura reminded him.
Her uncle leaned back in his chair, his hands folded on his stomach. “Go on.”
Patrick continued and she repeated. “You could hire your own militia to guard the grounds and maybe go into the forest to find the thieves.”
“Your suggestion has merit.” He nodded as he spoke.
“And soldiers would be able to deal better with the violence after being used to war, and such. More so than servants who have rarely left the estate.”
“It is an excellent idea.” Her uncle stood and called for the butler. “Unfortunately, it will take a bit of time before they can be here and I am not sure how to go about hiring soldiers.”
Neither did she. This wasn’t even her idea.
“Radburn.”
Laura turned to Patrick. “What?”
“Laura, who are you talking to?” The concern was etched in her aunt’s face once again.
“Nothing. I just thought I heard something.” She returned her gaze to Uncle Edmond.
“Tell him to contact Radburn,” Patrick said with more insistence.
“Radburn would be able to direct you, I am sure. He knew Blake well and served on the continent.”
“I remember something,” Patrick suddenly said.
Laura clenched her teeth to keep from responding and forced herself not to look at him. She wanted to ask, but didn’t dare speak to Patrick again, not in front of her aunt in uncle.
“Meet me in your writin’ room,” he ordered. Before she could respond, he stood and quit the room, a determined set to his jaw.
“Yes, yes. Now I remember the young man,” her uncle said. “He used to come here with Blake, and that other friend of his, the Irish lad, um, Delaney. Yes, that’s right.” Her uncle stood and tossed his napkin on the table. “I’ll have a message sent directly.” Her u
ncle was walking toward the entry when Tompkins entered. “Laura has offered a possible solution. I need someone to deliver a message to London immediately.”
Their voices faded down the hall and Laura relaxed back in her chair.
“Oh, I do hope this works.” Her aunt drained her cup of tea and stood. “Would you care to join me in the parlor?”
Though Laura knew she should spend time with her aunt as the woman must be lonely in the Abbey by herself most of the time, Laura wanted to be away to speak with Patrick. What had he remembered and did it have anything to do with Blake? “I need to write the scene I’ve been thinking about and then I will join you.”
Aunt Ivy offered a sad smile. “Very well dear, but don’t stay cooped up in there all day.”
Patrick paced in the center of the room. He had one fragment of memory, but could not grasp hold enough to remember more. But what little he did know he had to share with Laura.
“What do you remember?” she asked anxiously, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.
“I know for certain Blake didn’t return on the ship with me.”
“I know, but why?”
“Ya knew this?”
“I assumed. If you were here and he was not, then he could not have been with you.”
Patrick sank into a chair. He should have made the same supposition, yet he hadn’t.
“Do you remember where you left him and why?”
He closed his eyes and tried to remember what he could of his trip. He was assaulted with memories of sickness, death, sea and salt, mingled together, fires and burning, and a storm. What did it all mean and how did Blake fit in? “No, I don’t, only that he remained and sent me ahead.”
Laura blew out a breath. “But at least you recalled something. Perhaps your memory is returning. And, he might not be dead.”
At this rate, she would be an old woman before he remembered the whole of the story. She reached toward the fire utensils and stopped. “The poker is in my room.”