Ghost Girl

by C. J. Archer

  "I don't know any de Mordaunts," Jacob said, leaning over his wife's shoulder. "But I'm not familiar with every peer of the realm."

  A thorough search did not reveal any de Mordaunts or Mordaunts. "They may not be peers," I said, shutting Debrett's with a sigh. "Just because the fellow Quin knew was a knight doesn't mean his descendants took advantage of that and made something of themselves."

  "We could try the General Register Office," Jacob suggested. "They record all births, deaths and marriages," he explained to Quin.

  Quin looked astounded. "All of them?"

  "Yes, but it only began earlier this century. Prior to that it was up to the parish record keepers. A search through the current names should tell us if there are living de Mordaunts."

  "Or Mordaunts," I added. That got me thinking. It was common for medieval names of important families to be of French origin, since most had followed William the Conqueror over from Normandy. But many Anglicized their names over the centuries, changing spellings entirely. Quin's own surname, for example, was commonly changed to Sinclair.

  I reached for Debrett's again. "Our de Mordaunts may have an alternative spelling now."

  "Good thinking." Emily leaned in to me, Jacob and Quin too until Jacob ordered Quin back. Quin hesitated then obliged after a moment, moving only an inch or two farther away. If Jacob was dissatisfied, he didn't get a chance to say so. Emily was speaking.

  "What would be some variations, do you think?" She was engrossed in our search once more and oblivious to the power struggle happening behind us.

  "Mordane," I suggested. "Mordette, Mordred, Mordent—"

  "Mordant!" Jacob reached between us and furiously flipped the pages. "Specifically, one Byron Mordant-Turpin." He stopped and stabbed the page with his finger.

  Emily gasped. "Lord Alwyn! I know his wife, Lady Alwyn."

  I scanned the entry. According to Debrett's, Byron Mordant-Turpin was the eighth earl of Alwyn. His ancestry could be traced with certainty to one Henry Mordant, born in 1423, and with less certainty to the de Mordaunt family before that. "According to this, Gilbert de Mordaunt may have come over with William the Conqueror in 1066, since he was granted lands soon afterward. Alwyn must be from the same line as your friend, Quin. To have separate de Mordaunts living at the same time here in England would be highly unlikely."

  "He was not my friend," Quin said with a bitterness I hadn't expected. "He was my brother's. Where can we find this Byron Mordant-Turpin? Does he live here in London?"

  "He does," Jacob said, nodding eagerly. "He's a hopeless gambler and rakehell and rarely visits his family seat in Derbyshire anymore. There's little to occupy him, so he says. Rumor has it that he's run the estate into the ground with debts."

  I shook my head. "Why do so many men do that?" It was how August Langley had been able to buy Frakingham House from Lord Frakingham. The earl's father had racked up debts so enormous that his son had needed to sell off the family estate to pay them.

  "Lady Alwyn is no better," Emily said. "She throws parties in their townhouse most weeks, and she always wears the latest fashions from France. Her cook and lady’s maid are French too."

  I ran my palm over the warm leather cover of Debrett's. "Let’s hope they haven't sold off their library to make ends meet."

  "Introduce me," Quin said to Jacob.

  "Of course, since you ask so nicely. He's probably not out of bed yet. He keeps late hours. I'll ask around this afternoon and see if I can discover his movements for this evening."

  "That suits me," I said. "I'm a little tired myself and wouldn't mind a nap."

  Jacob angled himself between Quin and I. "Why are you tired? Didn't you sleep last night?"

  "Of course I did. Quin and I were up late talking, that's all."

  "Talking about what?"

  "That's none of your affair," I said.

  Quin crossed his arms and arched his brows in challenge.

  Jacob's nostrils flared and I worried that he would explode in anger. Fortunately, Emily knew how to manage her husband. She laid a hand on his arm and stood, but stumbled. He caught her and his frown quickly went from glaring to concerned.

  "Are you all right, Em?"

  "Yes, thank you. Let's see to the children before you go in search of answers to Alwyn's whereabouts."

  "But Cara…"

  "Sylvia will return soon. Can your nap wait for her?" she asked me. "She'll probably be needing a rest too."

  I nodded. "Where is she?"

  "Shopping. Tommy and one of our footmen went with her to help with the packages."

  "You let her go shopping without supervision?" I laughed. "I do hope she didn't spend too much."

  "Does Langley hold the purse strings tightly?"

  "Jack does. He manages all the family's finances. While he's away, Samuel has been helping Bollard with the task, but neither have been around much."

  "Then Sylvia has picked the right time to go shopping."

  "No wonder she was so keen to come to London."

  Emily took her husband's arm, but Jacob seemed reluctant to leave. He took Louis' trust in him very seriously, and I felt a little sorry that I was causing problems.

  "Quin and I will remain here until Sylvia returns," I assured him. "Perhaps you could send in a footman with some tea and ask him to stay with us. Will that appease you, Jacob?"

  "Hardly," he growled, not taking his bold gaze off Quin.

  "Jacob!" Emily cried.

  He had the decency to look away, although I didn't believe for a moment that he'd backed down.

  "Emily, you'd better take him away before they engage in battle," I said. "You know how difficult it is to remove blood from rugs."

  She smiled, and Jacob rolled his eyes. "Very amusing, Cara."

  "I am not going to harm her," Quin assured them. "My honor forbids it."

  "Your honor means little to me since I don't know you well," Jacob said.

  "Does the honor of a knight mean more?"

  "Knight? Do you mean to tell us that you're a knight?"

  "Good lord," Emily muttered, blinking at Quin.

  I expected I must have looked as awed as her. It was one thing to have an otherworldly warrior in my presence, but for him to be a knight as well was quite thrilling. "Does this mean we should have been addressing you as Sir Quintin all this time?"

  One side of his mouth kicked up. "Quin will suffice."

  "Well, Jacob?" Emily asked her husband. "Do you trust him now?"

  "If I must," Jacob muttered. "Although I don't see why ladies find knights so interesting. I know many, and none deserve this sort of reaction."

  "But they're not medieval knights. Knights were so chivalrous back then," Emily said dreamily.

  "Romantic stories only. I'm sure reality was quite different."

  "How do you know?" She slipped her arm through his and directed him toward the door. "Were you there?"

  He grunted. "Do I need to remind you that viscounts outrank knights?"

  "You're not a viscount yet." She grinned at me over her shoulder. She was only teasing him and Jacob was taking it in his stride, his temper seemingly dampened by her manipulations.

  Quin finally lowered himself into the leather armchair near the fire once they were gone. "He doesn't like me."

  "He's worried about me being alone with a…man." I was about to say handsome, powerful, mysterious and compelling man, but thought better of it. I wasn't sure what Quin's reaction would be to my admitting that I found him to be all those things, and more. I wasn't sure I dared find out. "It's not personal."

  "How can I convince him that I won't harm you?"

  "Try to be a little less…" Wonderful. "Difficult. Try not to butt heads with him so much."

  "Butt heads?"

  "Yes, like goats do." I made two fists and knocked them together. "He's used to being the strongest and most powerful man in this household. And now you've come along and suddenly his authority seems to be in doubt."

  He st
retched out his long legs and crossed his ankles. Aside from when he was lying in bed, it was the most laid back pose I'd ever seen him adopt. He must be feeling as tired as me, or he had simply grown comfortable in the house now. "It is not in doubt. He's your guardian and the head of this house. I respect his position."

  "You do? You don't necessarily show it all of the time."

  He thought about it then conceded my point with a nod. "I must apologize to him then. I'm used to giving orders, not taking them from anyone less than a king."

  I blinked slowly. "Whom did you give orders to in your time?"

  He closed his eyes and tipped his head against the chair's backrest. "No questions, Cara."

  I bit my tongue to stop my retort. He looked worn out after our nocturnal wanderings and early morning start. I was no longer feeling tired, however. Something had just occurred to me. I turned to Debrett's, still sitting on the table before me, and as quietly as possible turned the pages until I came to the list of surnames beginning with S.

  CHAPTER 9

  "There you are!" Sylvia burst into the library and handed her hat and gloves to Watkins. A footman followed behind her, carrying a tray with teapot and cups.

  Quin sat up and I pretended that I hadn't been looking through Debrett's for any St. Clairs, Sinclairs or variations thereof. My quick glance had proven futile. If Quin had descendants, they were not important enough to have an entry in Debrett's Peerage.

  "Emily told us you've been shopping," I said, accepting the teacup from the footman. "Tell us what you bought."

  She launched into a list so long that I began to worry Jack would grow angry once he found out. "I've also ordered invitations for the ball and new gowns to be made up for both myself and Hannah. I do hope she doesn't mind, but timing is crucial and all the best modistes are busy. If we waited for Hannah's return, she would never have anything made in time."

  "You know her size and what she likes?"

  "The modiste has her measurements already, so unless she ate too many French pastries while she was gone, she ought to be the same. And with her red hair, she can wear so few colors, so I chose a lovely shade of green and black. Her hair is regrettable, but does make it easier for me to choose in her absence."

  I tried to hide my smirk, but failed. "I'm sure she'll be very pleased with your choice, Sylvia. Come and have some tea and let us tell you everything that happened this morning."

  ***

  I awoke from my afternoon nap to see Sylvia still asleep beside me on the bed and Quin dozing in an armchair nearby. He'd shed his jacket, waistcoat and tie, and his booted feet rested on a chair opposite. With his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes closed, he looked at peace. I didn't want to wake him. For one thing, he needed to rest if we were to be out late again that night and, for another, I just wanted to keep staring at him.

  I was struck again by how handsome he was. While Nathaniel had the fine bone structure and coloring of a gentleman usually found in libraries and drawing rooms, there was nothing refined about Quin. His face and body could have been hewn from granite and chiseled by a sculptor. It was hard and uncompromising, even in repose. His only soft features were his lips and the long dark lashes that fanned his cheeks. With his callused palms and scarred back, there was nothing gentlemanly about him. Not in the modern sense of the word. To think that he was a medieval knight! I was beginning to think that Jacob was right when he said knights weren't the romantic figures stories made them out to be. My medieval knight was every bit a warrior. He made libraries and drawing rooms seem small and dull.

  A brisk knock on the door woke Quin and Sylvia. She snapped at the visitor to go away, while Quin jumped to his feet and answered it, fully alert.

  Jacob stood there. His face darkened upon seeing Quin's state of undress. "Do I need to remind you that you should dress appropriately while in the presence of ladies?"

  A muscle in Quin's jaw worked, but instead of snapping back, he gave a slight bow. "My apologies."

  Jacob looked taken aback. I suspected he'd prepared himself to be hit with either a fist or an argument. "Accepted. But I must insist."

  "Do you know where Alwyn will be tonight?" I asked before Quin decided he no longer cared if he were on Jacob's good side if it meant biting his tongue.

  "The Brickmaker's Arms. It's a tavern where illegal prize fights are held once a month."

  Sylvia made a whimpering sound from the bed. "You can't possibly go, Cara. It sounds much too dangerous for a lady."

  "But Alwyn is a peer," I protested. "It can't be all that bad."

  "It can and it probably is," Jacob said. "I agree with Sylvia. You'll stay home."

  "No." Quin gave an emphatic shake of his head before I could protest. "I'm going so she must come."

  "You don't have to, St. Clair. I can ask Alwyn for you."

  "No."

  "Why do you insist?"

  Quin's gaze lowered. I exchanged frowns with Jacob. "You can trust Jacob," I said. "If Alwyn has a library worth searching, Jacob will convince him to allow us access to it."

  "No," Quin said again. "I'll go tonight. Cara will dress as a boy to avoid attention."

  I wasn't sure whose protest was loudest, Sylvia's or Jacob's. I simply laughed and declared that it sounded amusing. The protests died down when I walked out. "Let's let Emily decide, shall we?"

  "That's not fair," Jacob muttered. But he followed us anyway and we found Emily in the small sitting room, eating cake with the two eldest children. I received their sticky-fingered hugs and joined them.

  "Emily, tell Cara she cannot go to the boxing tonight," Sylvia said, reaching for a piece of cake.

  "Boxing!" Gabe shouted. He set down his cake and punched an imaginary opponent. "Can I come too?"

  "No," his mother said. "Run along and see if Nanny can play with you while Matthew sleeps."

  Emily waited until two sets of little feet could be heard pounding down the hallway. Then she picked up her teacup. She didn't seem in the least surprised that we were talking about me attending a prize fight. She and Jacob must have already discussed it. "I'm not going to ban Cara from attending," she said. "If Quin wishes to go then so must she."

  "But it's not a sport for ladies' eyes!" Sylvia cried, pulling a face. "All that blood and foul language."

  "Agreed," Jacob said without taking his gaze off his wife. "I forbid it."

  "Come now, Jacob. No harm will come to her with both you and Quin there. I have complete faith in your ability to frighten off would-be thugs, my darling."

  "Flattery won't work, Em."

  "Then perhaps reason will. Quin can't leave Cara and I suspect he wishes to ensure Alwyn agrees to let him see his library."

  Quin nodded. "Thank you. I will take good care of your aunt."

  "You don't understand, Em," Jacob said with barely disguised patience. "These illegal bouts can attract a rough crowd. Even the authorities give them a wide berth."

  "She will not leave my side," Quin assured him. "Dressed as a boy, she will be left alone. I'll see to it."

  "Cocky, aren't you?" Jacob muttered.

  "He's no different from another gentleman I know," Emily said pointedly.

  Jacob's blink was all innocence.

  "You seem to be forgetting something," I told them. "I survived on the streets as a child, and I'd wager the things I saw and experienced then were far rougher than what I'll see at The Brickmaker's Arms tonight."

  The fact that Quin didn't ask me what I meant was telling indeed. Not only did he know about the evil spirit I'd summoned into another person's body when I was ten, but he must also know about my childhood. I hadn't been an orphan, but close to it since my sick mother and mad father were incapable of caring for me.

  "Good point," Emily said.

  I smiled at her. It looked like I had won and had her to thank. I'd known she was the adventurous sort before she married, and I supposed I was a lot like her in that regard. The fact that Jacob didn't put his foot down and insist I
do as I was told meant he knew it too and understood that stifling me would never work to his advantage.

  "You ought to take Tommy, just to be sure," she said.

  Sylvia coughed, spitting cake crumbs into her hand. "Have you all gone mad?" she asked when she recovered. "Why do you need to go to The Brickmaker's Arms at all? Why not simply call on Alwyn at his home?"

  "Because he's never at home," Jacob told her. "I asked around at my club, and it was agreed that this was the best way to speak to him."

  "I called on Lady Alwyn this afternoon and she claimed not to know when her husband would next appear," Emily said. "She seemed completely unconcerned too. In fact, she was far more interested in the ball you'll be throwing, Sylvia."

  "Indeed?" Sylvia's face brightened, her anxiety over my impropriety forgotten. "Should I invite her?"

  "I'm not sure. She has a tendency to take advantage of one's hospitality and linger after an invitation has expired."

  "Did you speak with her about her husband's library?" Quin asked.

  "I did, but she claimed to know very little. She told me, quite proudly, that the last time she was in their library at their country house was three years ago and that was only to search for a tiara that had gone missing."

  We ate dinner in a state of nervous anxiety. Or at least, I did. Jacob and Quin looked quite composed. Afterward, Emily and Sylvia helped me dress in clothes borrowed from the housekeeper's nephew. The twelve year old was my height and since I wasn't very big in the chest, they fitted. With my hair pinned up beneath a large hat, I could pass as a boy, if I kept to the shadows.

  We set off by coach and drove into the East End, an area I'd not returned to since I was a child. It was still a slum, with the poorest of the poor living cheek by jowl in houses that were only standing because their equally perilous neighbor had not yet fallen down. The coach picked its way carefully along the street, stopping outside a tavern with the sign of The Brickmaker's Arms swinging in the breeze. Smelly muck clogged the gutters and my nostrils, and most of the street lamps didn't work.