by Jo Goodman
Annie blushed and dropped her eyes. "You won't say anything, will you?" she asked quickly, giving Skye a furtive glance. "I don't like using the back stairs. He used to use them, you know."
"He?"
"You know," she insisted. "The ghost."
"Oh," Skye said, drawing out the word. "You mean Hamilton Granville."
"Yes. That's the one."
Skye explained patiently, "Annie, Mr. Granville was the master of this house. I doubt he used the servants' stairs much. He probably considered it demeaning."
"That's what I said when Rose told me. But she says Mr. Granville had a particular reason for using the stairs." She didn't elaborate but waited for Skye to guess her meaning through a show of brow wiggling and suggestive glances.
"I see," Skye said slowly. "You mean he was intimate with one of the servants."
"Exactly so!" Annie said triumphantly.
Skye found it difficult not to laugh. "So his ghost haunts the staircase, is that it? He's looking for his lost love?"
Annie nodded hard. Her gray eyes were wide and quite solemn.
"Well, that's a relief," Skye said, tapping her heart with her palm. "I was worried he'd be in here." Annie's brows went up in question. "Didn't Rose tell you?" Skye asked. "This is where he blew his brains out."
Chapter 5
After Annie left, Skye moved the tray to her bedside and climbed in under the comforter. She regretted teasing Annie, but the opportunity was too delicious to pass up. The poor woman couldn't leave the room quickly enough. Skye thought it was especially thoughtless of her since Annie had been so nice to bring the tray of warm milk and buttered bread. Annie had even remembered cinnamon and sugar. Mentally adding Annie Staplehurst's name to the list of apologies she was making in the morning, Skye settled back against the headboard, surrounding herself with a pillow throne.
She broke the warm bread heel into small chunks and dropped it in the milk. As she added cinnamon and a pinch of sugar, her eyes strayed toward the door. The chair she had propped against the handle appeared to be quite secure. Skye laughed a little uneasily, feeling something of a hypocrite for teasing Annie, then barring her own door.
It's not ghosts I've a mind to keep out, though, she thought. In her mind she could hear her mother's comforting accents. "Sure, but he's a flesh-and-blood man." Wrapping her hands around the mug, Skye raised it to her lips and pressed its warmth against her smile.
* * *
She was cold. A small shiver went through her, prickling the surface of her skin. Her fingers clutched spasmodically but grasped only the sheet beneath her. Where were the quilts? The comforter? She tried to extend her search but couldn't seem to raise her hands. When she shivered again, it was as much from rising panic as from the cold.
Something touched her face. Instinctively she jerked her head away. The touch came again, light against her skin, brushing her from one corner of her eye to the tip of her chin. It wasn't human flesh that made the trail, but something silky, something as insubstantial as gossamer.
The whisper of it across her skin made her want to cry out. She willed herself to open her mouth and force the sound. The thing grazed her lips, stilling her voice.
She moved her head again, another sideways jerk to avoid the brush of it. Her throat was exposed. She felt the naked arch of it as the touch of butterfly wings beat softly against its length. Something drifted across her bare shoulders. It lay still against her skin for only a heartbeat, then it moved like a fog across her flesh, touching her breasts, her ribs, then lower, so that she felt it skim her belly, her hip, and the inside of her thigh.
Her entire body revolted against the intimate intrusion, yet except for the small, negating shake of her head, there was no movement.
* * *
Skye woke slowly. Her limbs were slow to respond to the commands of her brain. The pounding in her head was insistent and almost painful. She covered her ears with her palms. The sound was barely muffled.
"You can't avoid me by sleeping the day away. You have to talk to me sometime."
Raising her eyelids the merest fraction, Skye dared to look at the door. It rattled in its frame with the force of the fist against it, but the chair held it firmly in place. She found a little comfort in learning all the pounding she'd heard wasn't solely inside her head. Rising from bed, her head swimming, Skye reached out to steady herself. She grabbed the bedpost and held on tightly.
"I'm coming," she said weakly. She realized she could have saved her breath. Walker couldn't hear her for all the racket he was making. Was he bent on waking the entire house?
Skye's robe was lying at the foot of the bed. She didn't bother with it because it didn't look warm enough to ward off her bone-deep chill. Instead, she grabbed one corner of the thick comforter and dragged it around her shoulders like a shawl. She was aware that her nightgown was clinging to her skin and that it was faintly damp. Wondering if she was aching for something, Skye touched her forehead with the back of her hand. She felt a little warm but knew it was no real test of her wellness.
Stumbling to the door, Skye kicked away the chair and leaned heavily against it. Walker's pounding hadn't stopped and the entire door vibrated along the length of Skye's body. "What do you want?" she asked. When her voice was barely audible to herself, Skye realized there was nothing for it but to open the door.
She turned the key and twisted the handle. With the door opened a crack, she peered out. "Go away," she said. "You don't have any sense. You'll wake everyone."
At his first glimpse of Skye, Walker's brows furrowed. The gold flecks in his eyes glinted like shards of amber glass. His gaze roamed her face, surveying the damage. "Everyone is awake," he said. "'Breakfast promptly at six-thirty,' you said. Remember?"
"Yes, but—" She interrupted her own objection to look behind her at the clock on the mantel. Her mouth sagged. "It's after seven," she said, astonishment and despair in the revelation. Sufficiently distracted, Skye was unable to stop Walker from shouldering his way into her bedchamber.
He glanced at the chair that had been pushed aside, but made no comment about it. There was no point in telling her it wouldn't have kept him out. His attention was all for Skye. "You look like hell," he said plainly, his eyes taking quick inventory.
Except for the unnaturally high color in her cheeks, her complexion was pasty. Her lips, especially the lower one, looked bruised. She began to worry it between her teeth even as he was studying her. He watched her wince, as if only becoming aware of her lip's tenderness, and raise her hand to her mouth to explore its edge. Without asking permission, Walker placed the back of three fingers against Skye's forehead. "You're not fevered," he said, shaking his head. "What happened to you? You look—"
"I know," she said, interrupting. "So you've said." Skye clutched the comforter more closely around her. "I must be getting a cold... maybe a migraine." In truth, she didn't know. She felt as if she were recovering from a prolonged illness rather than beginning one. Her muscles and bones ached deeply, and the lethargy had traveled to her brain. She could recall feeling this sluggish only when she'd been sick for days.
Skye brushed a strand of flaming hair from her eyes. It immediately fell back again. Giving up, she stared at Walker through it. "I don't think I slept well last night," she told him.
He looked amused. "That would be understating it a bit," he said. Taking her by the shoulders, Walker turned her so that she was facing the bed. He gave her a gentle push. "Go sit down while I build a fire. Perhaps thawing you out will help."
Skye wondered if she imagined some off color suggestion in his last statement or if it were really there. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was not usually such a slow top, she thought. "You shouldn't be here," she said fuzzily. The truth of it had only just occurred to her. She was a slow top this morning.
Walker was hunkered in front of the fireplace, putting down coals and kindling. "Yes, well," he drawled, "I was elected by the assembly to beard the lioness."
Skye puzzled over that a moment. "I don't think a lioness has a beard, not so you'd notice, anyway."
He chuckled appreciatively, looking back at her over his shoulder. She was absently rubbing her chin. "You're coming around nicely," he said. Walker went back to his work. When he had a fire blazing, he motioned to her to come closer. He nudged a chair toward the flames so she'd be able to feel the heat.
Still huddled in the comforter, Skye sat down. She'd have curled her legs under her, but Walker drew out her bare feet. At the first touch of his hands on her skin, Skye responded violently, kicking out so fast that Walker was nearly pushed into the fire.
He caught himself and held up his hands, not in a surrendering gesture, but to show he intended no harm. It didn't matter what he did, he realized, watching her cautiously. Although Skye returned his stare, her expression was blank. Slowly the dullness melted away, replaced by a wash of confusion. It was seconds later that she finally noticed him, his posture, the raised hands, and it was only then that an embarrassed flush stole across her features and awareness entered her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean—"
He waved aside her apology. "I should have asked permission." He pointed to her feet. Her toes were already curled against the braided hearth rug and she was inching her feet toward the fire. "May I?"
She nodded and steeled herself to be touched again.
Walker's hands were firm, the palms warm. His touch was substantial, not like—Skye's thoughts stopped. Not like what? she wondered. She was aware Walker was watching her again. "I wish you'd go," she said, huddling into the comforter. The fire was warming her on the outside, but the core of her was like ice. "I need to dress."
"You don't look well enough to leave your room today."
Her room was the last place she wanted to stay. "I'll be fine," she said. More firmly she added, "I am fine."
Walker wasn't convinced. In spite of that he gave in. "All right. But if you don't look any better in the afternoon, you're coming back here if I have to carry you."
Skye agreed because she believed she'd feel better, not because she'd allow him to carry her anywhere. When he was gone, she got up slowly and shed the comforter. Stripping out of her nightgown made her warmer almost immediately. She felt the fabric and wondered at its dampness. She could only imagine that she had been very warm during the night and promised herself not to lay so big a fire in the future.
Skye put the gown over the back of a chair so it could dry. She poured water from a blue spongeware pitcher into the basin on the washstand. Dipping her fingers into the basin, she touched water to her face and throat. It trickled between her breasts. Her nipples hardened.
She picked up a washcloth and began her ablutions, scrubbing harder than was her normal manner, though she was scarcely aware of it. In the mirror above the vanity Skye caught her reflection. She drew in her breath sharply when she saw how red she'd made her skin. This was no pink, healthy glow that touched her, but a raw, angry color. Dropping the cloth, Skye stepped out of the mirror's path.
She dressed quickly, avoiding more than a cursory glance in the glass on her way out the door. Her glorious hair was scraped back and coiled smoothly at the nape of her neck. She had pinched color into her cheeks. A small amount of rice powder effectively hid the shadows under her eyes. The dress she had chosen was heather gray, tailored to fit her slight figure. Today it made her look like a wraith.
Mrs. Reading was alone in the kitchen when Skye entered. Her place was still set at the table and several small plates covered with cotton napkins were nearby.
"It was kind of you to save something for me," she said, "but I find I'm not very hungry."
The cook didn't look up from her kneading. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and flour sprinkled the backs of her hands. Her forearms and fingers showed considerable strength as she worked the dough, patting and pushing and folding. "Suit yourself," she said indifferently.
Skye poured herself some tea from the pot warming on the stove. She added a dollop of honey and drank slowly, sluicing her throat. The dull thudding in her head had taken on the same rhythm as dough slapping against the breadboard.
"Do you know anything about the ghost?" The words were out before Skye quite realized she was going to ask them.
Although she looked up, Corina didn't break her rhythm. "The ghost?" she asked blankly. "Did I hear you right?"
Skye was tempted to say that she hadn't, but before she could form a reply, the cook was going on.
"Oh, you mean those stories about Hamilton Granville." She shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I don't pay much mind to that sort of thing. I can't be sure I'd sleep a wink if I did." Her eyes narrowed as she made a thorough assessment of Skye's face. "Have you been listening to the stories? Don't tell me that's your problem this morning."
"Goodness no," Skye said quickly, forcing a smile. "No, in fact, I had a hard sleep. Dreamless. I suspect that's why it was difficult to rise this morning. I do apologize. I'm afraid I didn't set a good example."
Corina Reading's expression didn't change. "That'll be for you to fix, won't it?"
Skye finished her tea. No amount of mea culpa was going to satisfy Mrs. Reading. Skye only hoped the rest of the staff was not so intractable.
Annie brushed off both of Skye's apologies, one for her late rising and the other for her teasing. "It's not a necessary thing," she said frankly. "I must have seemed a veritable goose, what with my goin' on about that ghost. It serves me right for being so silly. You'll find I don't mind having my nose tweaked from time to time."
"That's very gracious of you," Skye said, "and I promise not to take advantage. Where's Matt?"
"Mr. Caide took him out. He was going to show him the swan pond."
"The swan pond?"
"Through the woods, he said it was. They won't be gone above an hour." She looked momentarily worried. "Do you think it was all right for me to let Matt go? Mr. Caide is the one who suggested it."
"Then I'm certain he hoped you'd take him up on his offer," Skye told her. "How long ago did they leave?"
"You just missed them."
Skye figured she safely had forty-five minutes before their return. "And Mr. Parnell?"
"Up before anyone was stirrin', I understand. He's gone to his workroom again."
"Hank's caring for the animals?" Skye asked just to be certain. "And Rose—"
"Is with her sister and Jenny in the parlor. When you didn't come down this morning everyone got started just the same." Her voice dropped to a confidential whisper. "The only one who paid your absence much mind was Mrs. Reading and Mr. Caide. He seemed worried, but she was stirring trouble."
And you're keeping it stirred, Skye almost told her. She said nothing, believing Annie meant well. "I think I'll see what the twins and Jenny are doing in a little while. Right now I'm going upstairs to start another inventory."
Annie nodded, feeling important because Skye had thought to tell her her whereabouts. She picked up her feather duster and applied herself wholeheartedly to the bookshelves.
Skye started by pacing off the hallway which joined the bedchambers in her wing. She scribbled a few numbers on her pad, then went to her own room to measure its area. Estimating her own foot to be six inches and a natural step to take her about two feet, Skye walked two sides of her room and made her calculations. The dressing room and bathing room added a few more square feet. She wrote everything down with a rough sketch of the layout of the room.
Parnell's bedchamber was larger than her own, but it was a complementary L-shape so that the suites fit together like pieces of a puzzle. A door to the left of his fireplace could be opened into her dressing room. Skye tested the knob as she had on her own side and found the door just as secure. A brief glance around the room didn't reveal a key out in the open. Even if such a key existed, she wasn't of a mind to go rummaging for it just yet. She turned to go and felt something tug on the hem of her dress. Looking down s
he saw the material had caught on the head of a nail.
Skye pulled it free, then bent down to examine the nail. It was driven into the door frame and bent sideways to act as a latch on the door. Closer examination revealed there were five such nails along the frame, so small that Skye forgave herself for not seeing them immediately. Two were situated near each corner along the length of the jambs and one was in the middle at the top. Skye decided she wouldn't bother looking for a key at any time. One was quite useless unless someone was willing to pry away the nails keeping the door in place.
She laughed softly. The half-formed imaginings that had made the inspection seem important in the first place were without foundation. Making a few notes on her rough sketch, Skye paced off the room. When she was done, she slipped her notepad back in her apron pocket and stuck her pencil behind her ear.
Parnell's room was furnished in much the same manner as her own. The pieces were stained slightly darker and had a more masculine feel to them in their heaviness and lack of ornamentation. A pair of French doors led out to a balcony that was twice the size of hers. It was also separated from her own by a space of more than ten feet.
Skye picked up a few articles of clothing that were scattered on the floor. The things that required washing were slung over her arm. Parnell's wine-red robe she hung in the armoire. His wardrobe was such a large piece of furniture that it couldn't be squeezed into his dressing room. Instead it stood beside the secured door, on the other side of the wall directly opposite her own armoire.
Skye was unaware how much time had passed until she heard the sound of childish laughter. Scooping up a few more pieces of clothing, she headed for the hallway. She collided with Matt as he charged straight for her skirts, intending to hide behind them, or—she realized with a little start—under them. She gave a reflexive jerk, coming up on her toes as the boy tried to burrow between her legs.
Walker reached the top step and saw Matthew's tiny feet peeping out from under Skye's gown. "One is moved to envy," he said feelingly, a wicked grin lifting one corner of his mouth.