by Jane Charles
“I trust your travels were safe.” Quent smiled at his friend.
“The safest,” Thorn assured him. “And short, as luck would have it. I’ve spent the last day at Torrington Abbey with Chetwey and Brighid.” There was no need or purpose to tell him the full truth, or of the most pleasant and perplexing morning he’d spent with Miss Anna Southward.
“Oh, and, sir,” Bendle began as Quent and Garrick were just about to join Thorn in the great room, “Lord Bradenham sent word from Braewood. He and Lady Bradenham have arrived.”
“And there goes the end of our fun,” one of the triplets, Quent’s half-sisters, complained.
“The three of you can have dinner here before you have to head over,” Quent said.
“A short reprieve, but no pardon.” She heaved a sigh.
“Come on.” A second one linked her arm with the first one. “We’ll change for dinner and enjoy the time we have left.”
With the girls on their way to their chambers, Quent and Garrick started once again towards the great room.
Thorn looked past them and said, “You know, Quent, even after all this time, I can’t tell one of those girls from the other.” Of course, he never really gave it much effort. They were related to Quent and Braden, and both would probably string him up by his bollocks if he even started to show a partiality to one of the chits.
“I’m sure Braden would prefer you not think about them at all.”
Thorn laughed at that. “You wound me. As though I’m more dangerous than Kilworth.”
Garrick bit back a smile. “The one in green is Hope—”
“Speaking of Kilworth,” Thorn muttered, remembering the small scandal the young lady nearly embroiled herself in last spring.
“—and the one in yellow is Grace.”
“And now they’re changing clothes and that information will be completely useless to me.” Nor did he wish to commit anything about them to memory. They were not for him. They were certainly pretty enough, but a friend turned brother-in-law was not something he desired.
“Do tell us how things are at Torrington.” Quent stopped at the sideboard to pour a couple glasses of whisky. “Still no babe?”
“No, not yet. Though it shouldn’t be too much longer.” Thorn settled onto the settee and stretched his legs out in front of him. “If I was a betting man—”
“Which you are,” Garrick cut in.
“Very true.” Thorn grinned. “I would wager that she’ll deliver on Samhain. Fitting for a witch, don’t you think?”
“I think—” Garrick dropped into a seat across from Thorn “—that you’d better not let anyone hear you call Brighid Chetwey a witch.”
Thorn glanced around the great room. They appeared to be very much alone. “Perhaps outside these walls, but anyone alive or dead at Marisdùn is well aware of the lady’s powers.”
“Not my sisters.” Quent handed one glass to Thorn and another to Garrick. “Callie didn’t want everyone to know all the details as she’s fairly protective of Brighid,” he said before turning back to the sideboard to retrieve a drink of his own.
“I will not mention the little witch’s abilities in front of the ladies, in that case,” David promised. Was Callie aware that more than a few people outside of Marisdùn knew, such as Miss Southward and that she’d played a part in ridding the place of the old relative?
“I say,” Garrick began, but was stopped by a sudden high-pitched wail, startling Quent enough to splash whiskey not only into his tumbler but onto himself.
Was that one of the triplets or were the ghosts louder than he remembered?
Quent dropped the decanter onto the sideboard, nearly spilling the entire thing before sprinting to the threshold. Garrick came to his feet and Thorn followed them both from the room. “Never a dull moment at Marisdùn, hmm?”
“Things had been fairy peaceful until now,” Garrick said, as if trying to reassure him for some reason.
David just wanted the wailing to stop. The closer they came to the family wing, the louder it grew. Thank God his parents had never been blessed with daughters because he was quite certain such hysteria would drive him to Bedlam.
“What happened?” Quent bellowed, when he reached the room the crying seemed to be coming from. One of the girls appeared in the doorway, and not the screaming one.
“She’s missing an earbob, but it’s not life threatening.”
All of this over a bloody earbob? David could have sworn the girl was being drawn and quartered by the sounds of her wailing. Miss Southward certainly wouldn’t carry on in such a manner. Not that he knew her all that well, but a woman who wished to sculpt an unclothed male wouldn’t waste tears over an item of jewelry. Or, at least he didn’t think so.
Another despondent cry came from the girl’s room and David turned back toward the way they’d come. This was a family matter, and he needed a drink. It was the only thing to help him banish Miss Southward from his mind. And, he did need to banish her if he was going to have hope of enjoying himself this year.
“Hope!” Quent barked. “Do pull yourself together!”
His despondent sister only wailed louder in response, rattling David’s teeth and he had half a mind to cover his ears. Surely, they would begin bleeding soon if that girl didn’t stop.
“Dearest,” one of the other girls called through the door, “I’m sure it’ll be just like Patience’s ribbon and will turn up.”
“I can’t wait that long!” the wailer cried. “What if they don’t give it back before the masquerade?”
They? Who had taken the earbob? Certainly not the servants.
“You have lots of earbobs,” Quent called. “It will be fine.”
Instead of being placated, the sister let out another ear-piercing scream.
Were they often like this? It was a miracle he wasn’t visiting Quent and Braden in Bedlam by now.
Though he’d like to return downstairs Thorn decided to remain, if only to give moral support to his friend. He leaned back against the wall. As it was, the girl’s cries were practically echoing through the castle, so he wouldn’t be able to relax no matter where he went.
Quent and one of the triplets spoke in whispers, which David could not make out. All he could hear was mention of a ribbon that had gone missing. It turned up and the earbob would to, but it was unlikely the girl would stop screaming before it did.
With a sigh he straightened. “We could search the castle for it. Especially if Lady Hope might stop crying in order for us to do so.” Anything to make her stop crying.
Quent glanced at him and then over to Garrick, who nodded his head in agreement, before turning to the door again. “Did you hear that, my dear?” he called through the door. “Thorn, Garrick and I will search Marisdùn over if you can stop crying long enough for us to think.”
“We’ll turn the place inside out,” David said loud enough for her to hear.
The crying slowed to a whimper, though David stiffened, waiting for the next onslaught. It was possible she was just trying to catch her breath. A moment later, her door opened and he blew out a relieved sigh. The young woman stepped to the door, her face red and tear-streaked and she held out her hand. At least looking this way, he could tell her apart from the other two.
Thorn peered over Quent’s shoulder to see a pear-shaped emerald earbob, encrusted with tiny diamonds along the edges.
“I-it—” she struggled for breath “—looks like this one.”
“And you’re sure it’s not in there?” David asked, gesturing to Hope’s chambers.
Her face twisted up and she started to cry once more.
Bloody hell! He should have kept his mouth shut and just started his search of the damn place.
“No, no, no,” Garrick insisted. “Don’t cry, my lady, we’ll find it. Not to worry. I’ve always found everything I’ve put my mind to.”
“Give her your handkerchief,” Quent said, though David could imagine why Quent wouldn’t part with his own.
Garrick quickly lifted his handkerchief out to Lady Hope and said, “Chin up. We’ll find it, I’m certain.”
* * *
He’d searched every room in the bloody castle and there wasn’t an earbob to be found. “You know,” he began as they entered the small sitting room. “I am quite exhausted from looking this place over. Between missing girls and earbobs, I have seen more of this castle than I have my own home.”
“If it’s those Mordue children,” Garrick said, stepping towards the hearth and inspecting the mortar work, “their governess really ought to teach them not to steal.”
He’d forgotten about the ghostly children who liked to run through the halls laughing and yelling. “I would image if they were going to learn that particular lesson they would have already done so by now.” All of this because ghosts may have taken the earbob. No wonder they couldn’t find it.
“What is this?” Garrick asked, his voice in awe.
David turned to find Garrick pulling back a part of the sitting room’s wall, right beside the large hearth.
“What indeed?” David stepped forward, a bit intrigued by this discovery. “A secret room?”
“Looks like it. Did you know this was here?” Garrick asked Quent.
“First I’ve seen of it.”
“How did you find it?” David opened the hidden door. It was made of the same stones at the rest of the wall. No wonder they hadn’t noticed it before.
“It was ajar,” Garrick replied. “I just looked to my left and there it was.”
“Shall we venture in?” David poked his head further into the opening.
“It’s dark as pitch in there,” Garrick said, which David clearly noticed himself as he was unable to see a blasted thing.
It was a bit intriguing and clearly nobody had discovered it until now or it would have been mentioned in their search for Callie last year. “Perhaps this is where your great-grandmother kept Callie prisoner.”
“No,” Quent said. “She was stuck between worlds or something like that. She says she could see us, we just couldn’t see her.”
“Well, whatever’s in there I want to see what it is.”
“Me too,” Garrick agreed. “I’ll grab a candle. See what there is to be seen.”
David waited patiently until Garrick returned, a lit beeswax candle in his hands. “After me.” Then he stepped into the darkened passage way and moved the light from side to side.
“Looks like the place was crudely carved out long after this wing was built,” David said, studying the edge of the stone.
“Reformation,” Garrick lifted his candle closer to one of the gashes in the wall so they could see it better.
“Oh! A torch!” Quent said as light from the candle illuminated the passage.
“Perfect,” Garrick carefully made his way to the sconce and used his flame to light the torch. The small passage way ended just a few feet away. Fairly disappointing since David was rather hoping for a labyrinth of secret passages.
“What is that?” Quent asked.
“I don’t know.” David looked over the pile of things at the end of the short hall before he started picking through them. “What in the world?” This can’t be an old corset. He studied it a little closer. Sure enough, that’s exactly what it was. “On my word, I have not undressed anyone in this room. Not yet.”
“So you say,” Garrick chuckled slightly as he approached the pile of things. “Weapons.” He pushed a sword out of his path with his Hessians. “Jewelry.” He retrieved a ruby necklace from the assortment on the floor.
“Why the devil would someone keep clothing, weapons, jewelry strewn about in this priest hole?” Quent scrubbed a hand down his face.
“Do you think all these things have been stolen over the years by those ghost children?” Garrick asked.
Quent shook his head. “Mrs. Small said they always return what they take.”
“She could be mistaken.” Clearly, not all things were returned or there wouldn’t be a pile of things in here.
“Damn it all!” Garrick dropped down to his haunches and retrieved a small cravat pin from the mix. “I thought I’d lost this. Misplaced it somewhere.” He snorted. “Damned little thieves took it.”
“What is it?” Quent asked.
“Used to be my father’s.” He shook his head, still surprised by his find. “Family crest and everything on it.”
“You had it with you last year?”
“I must have.” Garrick nodded. “This is my pin, Quent. I’ve had it for nearly two decades.”
“Let’s find that emerald, shall we?” Quent said right before he dropped to his knees. David and Garrick followed suit.
The ghost children certainly were eclectic in what they took. There were weapons, clothing, cravats, hats and gloves. Mixed in were all sorts of jewelry. Several interesting items, but not a single emerald earbob.
Thorn considered moving back to Torrington Abbey before Quent broke the news to his sister. It was the only sure way he’d be guaranteed any sleep tonight.
“Dear God,” Garrick’s mouth dropped open. “Is than an actual chastity belt?”
“How the devil did the little thieves steal that?” Quent asked.
“Very carefully,” David laughed. He picked it up and studied the design, inwardly wincing at the sharp, outward points surrounding the opening that allowed a lady all necessity she required, but kept away any foreign intrusion.
“If you find two more, Braden can give them to our sisters.”
“That might keep Kilworth at bay,” Garrick replied and David bit back a chuckle as he continued to search the piles. Lord Kilworth, a friend of theirs, though far more debauched, had taken an interest in Lady Hope over the past year, and she him. However, David knew in his gut that there was nothing honorable about that man’s intentions, and that he was a fool. He’s lucky Braden hadn’t strung him up by now for the attention and near scandal of last spring when Lady Hope had ended up in the Serpentine from a race with the gentleman.
His hands brushed a long, leather pouch. He opened it and immediately thought of Miss Southward. After a quick glance to his friends to note they weren’t paying him any attention, David slipped it into his pocket with a grin before he went back to his search.
What’s this? His fingers struck a box. “Whoa,” he said when he was able to see what he’d grasped. “An entire jewelry box. They are enterprising little thieves, weren’t they?”
“Open it,” Quent said.
David lifted the edge of the small metal box and shook his head. “Just another ring.” He passed the box over to Quent, not interested in the older item. It looked more like a relic than a fine piece of jewelry.
“That is ugly,” Garrick said and David couldn’t agree more.
“That may be the most valuable piece in the collection,” Quent said, retrieving the ring from the box and lifting it up to catch more of the light from the sconce. “Do you know what this is?”
“I would have said rubbish about a minute ago,” Garrick replied.
“It’s Roman.”
“Roman?” David echoed. Well, it certainly belonged in the relic category.
Quent nodded. “A military ring, likely one owned by a leader of some sort.” He rubbed his fingers over the metal to reveal an engraving. “Hadriano Fidem. Loyalty to Hadrian. This is early 2nd Century.”
“From when they arrived in Ravenglass,” Garrick whispered, his mind seemingly somewhere else all of a sudden.
But before David could inquire about the dreamy look in his friend’s eyes, the most obnoxious, old and sickening odor filled the room. “What is that smell? Like something died in here.”
“Let’s come back after it’s aired out.” Quent pocketed the Roman ring and started back for the sitting room entrance. “Besides it must be dinner time by this point.”
“Excellent idea.” David was right on his heels, though if that smell persisted, he wasn’t so sure he’d be hungry.
> * * *
Anna could barely eat a bite at supper. Her stomach was in knots and all because of what she’d said to Mr. Thorn. Everything had been going so well until she said she’d like to have her own model. A part of her was surprised he didn’t jump up and leave, offended to be in her company.
Boldness had always gotten her into trouble and she had tried to curb it, she truly had, but it was so difficult. Living with her uncle was so different than life with her parents had been. They encouraged her to question and seek out answers. Uncle Walter encouraged her to remain quiet, read her Bible, and tend to ladylike pursuits.
If she were able to return to the sea tomorrow, might she run in to Mr. Thorn again? This time she’d make no mention of sculpting the human form. She’d just paint, as young ladies are supposed to do. Perhaps he’d forget the conversation of today.
If only she could erase today and start over. But, there was no guarantee he would ride along the shore again. He’d only gone because Brighid had sent him.
She straightened. Yes, that was it. She could send a letter to Brighid and just mention casually that she wished to visit but would be painting again. Her beautiful sunset had been taken by Mr. Thorn and she did need to replace it.
“Matilda, you haven’t touched your food,” Uncle Walter nearly barked.
“Sorry, Father,” Tilly replied sadly before she stabbed a helpless carrot with her fort.
It wouldn’t hurt to ask her uncle. He did like it to be silent in the house and if she were away, it was one less person making noise. “Might I go to the shore to paint again tomorrow, Uncle Walter?”
“The shore?”
“Only for a short time,” she promised. “God has provided such beautiful scenery for us to enjoy. I only wish to capture His majesty, Uncle.” If he believed her thoughts were of God and his creation, her uncle may just allow another day. There was absolutely no reason he must know about Mr. Thorn. If he did, then she’d be locked up in her room for weeks, only being allowed out to attend Sunday Services.