by Sandra Heath
She sat up slowly, and rubbed her eyes to make sure she was not dreaming, then she looked at the apparition again. Plumes curled from his wide-brimmed hat, and a periwig fell to his shoulders in row after row of regimented curls. He was clean-shaven except for wisps of mustache flanking the corners of his mouth, and he wore a short, unbuttoned jacket that was fastened with bows at the throat. There were more bows on his shirt, his baggy breeches were finished with deep lace ruffles at the knee, and his buckled shoes had high heels. He carried a cane that was almost as tall as himself, and there was a sword in a decorative baldric over his right shoulder. She knew she was looking at Rollo Witherspoon, but he might so easily have been Old Rowley himself, or the Sun King of Versailles.
He was staring at something in the distance, but then raised his eyes to the heavens, assumed a theatrical pose, and declared. " 'I have a good eye, Uncle: I can see a church by daylight.' "
Shakespeare again, Megan thought with commendable calm, possibly Much Ado About Nothing. She didn't quite know how to proceed. Should she speak to him, or just stay silent? But even as she deliberated he suddenly strode from the room, and the scent of orange blossom water wafted over her as he passed. Quickly she got out of bed, put on her cream woolen wrap, then followed him. He went downstairs to the theater, where he again uttered his interpretation of the Bard of Avon: As You Like It this time.
" 'All the world's a stage. And all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances: And one man in his time plays many parts, and… And then…!' " The words eluded him once more. "Oh, fool, fool, to be able to recall quotations only to forget speeches!" The curtain was wrenched up, and he strode away into the recesses of the stage. Then silence descended.
Megan gazed across the darkened auditorium. Now, when it was too late, she wished she'd spoken to him. She returned to the staircase, but as she began to ascend, candlelight suddenly flickered at the top and Greville barred her way. His hair was tousled from sleep, and his maroon paisley dressing gown was tied loosely at the waist. "What have we here, Miss Mortimer? A little nocturnal perambulation for the good of your health?" he inquired coolly.
"Please let me pass, sir."
He didn't move. "Why are you wandering around the house in the middle of the night?"
"I heard something," she replied truthfully.
"What, exactly?"
"Footsteps. Didn't you hear them too?"
"I heard nothing at all." He really didn't know why he'd awoken, but something had then compelled him to leave his room.
She thought it prudent not to mention Rollo, for Sir Greville the Grim was unlikely to believe in such things. All she wanted was to return to her room and close the door upon all things Seton. "Well, I was probably dreaming," she said.
"Undoubtedly." His candle fluttered as he stood aside suddenly. "Well, don't let me keep you from your slumbers a moment longer, madam."
She hurried thankfully past him, wishing hot candle wax would splash on his bare toes.
Megan opened her eyes to bright sunshine the next morning. It was Friday, December 19, and she could see by the ice-fringed ivy leaves around the window that there had been a sharp dawn frost. There was a great deal of noise coming from outside, hammering, shouting, and the occasional rumble of falling masonry. She flung the bedclothes back and went to look out, for everything had been in darkness when she and Evangeline arrived last night.
She found herself gazing out over a small walled garden and the Radcliffe House stables toward what was left of the northern end of Great East Street. Most of it had already been demolished, and gangs of workmen were bringing down what was left. There were clouds of dust, and carts were hauling away the rubble.
Several miles to the north of Radcliffe House were the ice-whitened Downs, where windmills awaited the breeze, but immediately to the south lay the present quite modest grounds of the Marine Pavilion, which would soon be greatly extended when the intrusion of Great East Street was no more. Already a great stable was abuilding, comprising an immense dome that to Megan's eyes looked as large as St. Paul's Cathedral itself. The main entrance to the Pavilion was from the undisturbed section of Great East Street, and beyond it lay the rest of the old town. Then there was the sea, sparkling brightly in the winter sun, and far out on the horizon a squadron of Royal Naval frigates sailing toward Portsmouth.
The walled garden of Radcliffe House was well tended even in the depths of winter, and although the frost precluded any work as yet this morning, it was clear that Evangeline's two gardeners were assiduous about their duties. There was a quite astonishing display of chrysanthemums, goldenrod, and Michaelmas daisies for so late in the year, as well as borders of pansies and violas. A gravel path edged by a low box hedge encircled a small lawn, in the center of which was a raised lily pond that was covered in ice. Beside the pool there was a little white-painted summerhouse. It was open in front, had a little bench inside, and was overhung by a gnarled apple tree, in which flourished the prodigious mistletoe Evangeline had mentioned the evening before.
Remembering how Rollo had appeared to be gazing at something in the distance, Megan looked in what she thought was the same direction. The only thing of note was a hilltop church with a countrified churchyard at the very edge of the town. Was that what the ghost had been looking at? Suddenly she remembered the quotation he'd used. "I have a good eye, Uncle: I can see a church by daylight." Yes, that was what he had been looking at.
A little later, dressed in her mustard gown, with her hair pinned up in a neat knot on top of her head, she went reluctantly down to take breakfast with Lady Evangeline, Rupert, and Greville. She was determined not to catch the eye of the latter, or speak to him unless spoken to first.
Chapter 10
The dining room was next to the drawing room on the Steine side of the house, and was decorated in gray and gold. It caught the full flush of the morning sun, and the warm air was scented with coffee, toast, and crisp bacon, as well as the bowl of roses that adorned the center of that same white-clothed table where the previous evening Megan had been so wretched. Edward, as supercilious and sour-faced as ever, was standing to attention by the sideboard, on which an array of silver-domed platters indicated a goodly selection. Outside, ladies and gentlemen of the ton paraded on the Steine's fine pathways, and several gleaming town carriages bowled around the perimeter roads. More carriages were drawn up in front of Donaldson's Circulating Library, and the sound of a German band playing Christmas carols could be heard from the front lawn of the Pavilion.
When Megan entered, she found everyone else already at the table. Rupert and Greville rose to their feet. They were both in pine-green coats and beige breeches, signifying an intention to ride after breakfast, and Evangeline was resplendent in a long-sleeved navy blue silk morning gown and lace day bonnet. She bestowed a gracious smile upon Megan.
"Good morning, my dear. I trust you slept well?"
"Good morning, Lady Evangeline. Sirs. Yes, I slept excellently," Megan replied, and was immediately conscious of Greville's raised eyebrow. But he said nothing.
Rupert hastened to draw out a chair for her, and as she sat down the door opened again. A maid came in with more bacon, and did not enter alone, for Rollo's spectral steps followed. The ghost crossed to the table, and halted right beside Megan. He was totally invisible again this morning, but the scent of orange blossom was heady, and she was sure that if she reached out she would be able to touch him. After all, if he could leave his imprint on carriage upholstery, surely he would be substantial enough to touch?
She heard him inhale deeply. " 'But, soft! Methinks I scent the morning air,' " he murmured, and she looked swiftly at the others to see if they heard, but only Evangeline seemed to have done so, for she tutted as she reached for the marmalade.
The maid went out again, and Evangeline smiled at Megan again. "What would you like to eat, my dear? I vow we have every breakfast item in creation."
"Oh, just some bacon an
d an egg," Megan replied, and as Edward brought them, she wondered if he would contrive to spill everything in her lap out of spite.
Rollo was evidently intent upon Evangeline, for suddenly he spoke to her. "What ho, my lady? Dost thou not think this to be a fine morning?"
"Enough, sir," she hissed, at which Rupert and Greville exchanged glances. Edward paused, a slice of crisp bacon impaled upon his serving fork, but then he went on with what he was doing.
Rollo sighed. " 'Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair,' " he quoted.
"Sir, I will not have this at the breakfast table!" Evangeline whispered crossly.
" 'O tiger's heart wrapped in a woman's hide!' " But the phantom fell silent, and Evangeline began to talk about the Christmas decorations which Fosdyke and two footmen were at that very moment acquiring in the town.
Megan picked up her knife and fork, but then a slice of toast suddenly rose from the rack in front of her, and floated over to the window seat, where it was eaten with relish. Megan stared. Ghosts could eat! She glanced around the table again, but this time not even Evangeline appeared to have noticed.
Silence prevailed for some five minutes, but then Rupert glanced so sharply toward the window that Megan was sure he had suddenly perceived Rollo. But it was something else he had noticed. "Good Lord! That fellow's all in white!"
Everyone turned-even Rollo, Megan felt sure-and saw a gentleman clad from head to toe in white, riding by on a white horse. He was not new to Evangeline. "That is a busybody and tittle-tattler by the name of Mr. Mellish. He is a crony of the Garsingtons, and is always to be found at their wretched musical soirees, although I am convinced his purpose is solely to discover their latest foolishness. He spreads spiteful chitter-chatter to every drawing room into which he can worm his way, for he is the most unprincipled gossipmonger in Brighton. He thinks he cuts a dash to end all dashes with his penchant for white, but he is actually relatively restrained compared with Mr. Cope, who thankfully is no longer in Brighton," she declared, beckoning Edward to bring her some more bacon.
Rupert was intrigued. "And who might Mr. Cope be?"
"A gentleman as green as Mr. Mellish is white. Mind you, Mr. Cope's eccentricities verged on the alarmingly odd."
Greville raised his eyes to the pelmet, thinking that those last two words might occasionally apply to his aunt herself.
Evangeline glanced at Edward. "You may go now."
"My lady." The footman bowed and withdrew, closing the dining room door behind him.
Evangeline then elaborated upon the green man. "Mr. Cope wore only green, right down to green seals at his fob. His house was furnished in green, he only ate green vegetables, his wigs were powdered in green, and he even attempted to have his horses dyed green, but it all washed out in the first downpour. He was much given to studying ladies with his quizzing glass, and examined complete strangers as if under a microscope. He alarmed more than one gentle soul, I can tell you. As you can imagine, he brought the Steine to a halt when he appeared, not that he will appear again for the time being. In October he jumped out of his bedroom window because he heard noises and thought he had to escape a riot. Fortunately, he wasn't badly hurt, but his friends deemed it best to take him somewhere quiet to, er, recover."
"An asylum, perchance?" Rupert suggested.
"Most likely." Evangeline looked at him. "By the way, have you and Greville entered your name at Donaldson's?"
Rupert nodded. "Well, not yet. I intend to do so this morning, but I can't speak for Greville."
She turned to Greville. "Sir?"
That gentleman stirred himself to answer. "Aunt E, the circulating library is the very last place you will find me. To go there is tantamount to informing the town crier."
"You surely don't imagine your presence here is going to pass unnoticed? You will be observed the moment you sally forth for your ride."
Greville shrugged. "I intend to turn my collar up and pull my hat low, and since we are going to make for the Downs, I doubt if I will see all that many. Word can get around if it pleases, but I do not have to oblige Brighton by flinging myself into the thick of society. I wish to be quiet, and quiet I will be."
"Well, that makes things a little awkward. You see, now that you, Rupert, and I are here in Brighton after all, I had planned for us to attend tomorrow night's Christmas bal masque at the Old Ship Hotel. I presume you will not be coming?"
"That is correct."
Evangeline sighed. "Oh, well, I suppose it will even things out conveniently if you are not present."
"What do you mean?"
"Sir Jocelyn and Chloe are bound to be there, which means Mr. March will be with them. Rupert and I will join their party, and Miss Mortimer will bring the number up to a perfect six."
There was silence, and the playing of the German band seemed suddenly more intrusive. Megan lost what little appetite she had; indeed she felt quite sick. Wear fine clothes, eat at this awful table, face Cousin Oliver, and go to a fashionable ball? It was too much. She couldn't do it, she simply couldn't!
Evangeline beamed at them all. "An excellent balance, don't you think?"
Greville's cool gray eyes swung toward Megan. "Perhaps I'll attend the ball after all, Aunt E," he said, and Megan was sure he had changed his mind simply to be at hand to deny her any hope of enjoying herself. He need not have troubled, for enjoyment was the very last thing she would experience!
Evangeline frowned at him. "Oh, do make up your mind, sir. Am I to take it now that you are definitely going to join us?"
"Yes, so it's an uneven seven after all, I fear."
"It cannot be helped. Now, then, Greville, I have a favor to ask of you."
"A favor?"
Evangeline nodded. "I find myself with so much to do today that I really do not have the time to fit everything in. What with overseeing the Christmas decorations, sorting out the costumes for the play, and summoning my dressmaker to bring the new jester's costume I ordered before leaving for Bath, there really isn't time to go to Mrs. Fiske's in St. James's Street as well. Mrs. Fiske herself is only in attendance between twelve and five, and Miss Mortimer is expected there at twelve, so would you be an angel and take her for me? After your ride, of course."
"If something you've ordered requires collection, surely a footman can do it?" Greville suggested, thinking it odd to send Megan.
"It isn't anything for me, sir. Mrs. Fiske is to provide Miss Mortimer with suitable new togs, including, I trust, a gown that will do for tomorrow night."
Greville stared. His aunt had finally taken leave of her senses! An evening gown for a companion? Oh, feline Miss Mortimer had indeed fallen on her feet!
"Well, Greville?" Evangeline eyed him.
"If you wish me to take Miss Mortimer, I will do so."
Megan's heart sank, for she had been silently praying he had something else to do, but Evangeline beamed with satisfaction. "Excellent. Now, if Miss Mortimer finds the things to her liking, you are to instruct Mrs. Fiske to have them delivered here without delay. The bill is to be sent to me, naturally."
"Naturally."
"By the way, I have invited Sir Jocelyn and Chloe to join us tonight to discuss Twelfth Night." Evangeline placed her napkin by her plate. "Rupert, I expect you to conduct yourself with dignity where Chloe's friendship with Mr. March is concerned."
"Yes, Aunt E."
"Miss Mortimer, I shall not require you until this afternoon, when I wish you to read through Feste with me."
"Yes, Lady Evangeline."
Rollo murmured from the window seat. " 'Well, God give them wisdom that have it; and those that are fools, let them use their talents.' "
Evangeline hesitated, then went on speaking to Megan. "In the meantime you may do as you please, just be sure to make arrangements with Greville before he goes off on his ride."
"Yes, Lady Evangeline."
"Oh, dear, it's beginning to get very hot in here. I think I will stroll in the garden a while." Evangeline got up ha
stily, for her face was beginning to go a familiar red. Greville opened the door for her, but as he began to close it again he almost trapped Rollo, who was following her.
The ghost was most indignant. "Ye gods and small fishes! Thou art plaguey impatient, sirrah! Canst thou not allow a person time to pass through in peace?"
But Greville's ear was unhearing.
Chapter 11
Having reluctantly agreed with Greville that she would be ready in the entrance hall at a quarter to twelve precisely, Megan decided to use the intervening free time to walk the half mile or so to St. Nicholas's. Wearing her maroon cloak, mustard gown, and little hat, she set out directly after breakfast, before Greville and Rupert had left for their ride on the Downs. Her hands were thrust deep into a warm fur muff that Evangeline had kindly insisted she take, and she was glad of her little ankle boots, for there was quite a bite in the sea air.
Her route took her away from the Steine, across another fairly open area and the remnants of the very end of Great East Street into Church Street, which led past an army barracks, then steeply up toward the church on the hill. The sun had melted the frost and a light breeze had picked up, and during a lull in the demolition she heard the German band again. It was playing "The Holly and the Ivy."
There were side streets and courtyards along Church Street, as well as a number of houses and other buildings, but they became fewer the farther up the hill she walked until by the time she reached the churchyard wall, she seemed almost in open country. From here the view was wonderful. Brighton was spread out below, and she could clearly see Radcliffe House and the Marine Pavilion. The sea glittered bright green-blue, with many sails dotted out toward the horizon, and it was so clear that in the western distance, some sixty miles away, she could make out the Isle of Wight. It was a lovely day, and could not have been further removed from the storm of less than a week ago, when parts of southern England had suffered damage and flood.