by Jen Turano
“I, for one, am shocked that Mr. Ruff was so determined to find you that a distraction plan was even necessary,” Abigail said with a huff. “Honestly, I think Mr. Skukman has the right of it and Silas has misplaced a bit, if not all, of his sanity.”
“Which makes him more dangerous than I originally thought.”
Abigail nodded. “Indeed it does, and makes me worry all the more for the safety of Archibald, Mr. Kenton, and Mr. Skukman.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m still not convinced Mr. Skukman’s plan was a sound one, because you must know that it’s highly unlikely Mr. Kenton will pass for me upon close inspection, even wearing one of my favorite traveling dresses and matching hat.”
“Nor will Archibald pass for me, but trying to lure Silas away from where he’d taken up position in front of my old boardinghouse was the best plan we came up with on such short notice.” Lucetta released a breath. “It was only a matter of time until Silas discovered I no longer lived there, and given the questionable people wandering around the Lower East Side, well, I’m sure a few dollars would have earned Silas my new direction, and remarkably quickly at that.”
“But there are a million things that could go wrong with Mr. Skukman’s plan,” Abigail said, clear worry marking her tone.
“Which is why you should take comfort in the idea that Mr. Skukman is a gentleman of many talents, one of those talents being incredibly proficient with a pistol.” She opened up the greatcoat she’d borrowed from Abigail’s coachman, a coachman she was currently impersonating, revealing a pistol of her own. “You should be relieved to learn that Mr. Skukman taught me how to shoot a few years back, and while I’m not as proficient as he is, I should be able to fend off anyone who gets too close to us, if we feel they’re a distinct threat, that is.”
Abigail narrowed her eyes. “You’d be comfortable shooting someone?”
“Well, no, probably not, but I wouldn’t be opposed to giving them a good scare if I felt we were in danger. But thankfully, since we’ve reached Tarrytown, we’re almost to our destination, and that means we should be out of any danger shortly.” She reached up a hand and scratched at whiskers that were beginning to irritate her skin. “I won’t be sorry to get out of this coachman costume—that’s for certain. I forget that gluing whiskers on my face always has me breaking out into a bit of a rash.”
“That you glue whiskers on your face often enough to know that is slightly disturbing,” Abigail countered before she nodded to the river that they could now see through the trees. “There’s the Hudson, so we must be close, but . . .” She suddenly looked a little worried. “I’ve never approached the castle by carriage before.”
Abigail leaned forward and peered toward the river. “I’ve always taken a steamboat up the Hudson to get to it. . . . Although I should probably mention that I’ve never actually docked at my grandson’s private dock, nor have I ever stepped foot inside the castle.”
Lucetta’s mouth went a little slack. “And yet you believe we’ll be well received, even though we’re descending on Ravenwood unannounced?”
Abigail sent her a weak smile. “I’m almost certain Bram will welcome us with open arms, dear. Never you fear. Granted, I don’t share an especially close relationship with my grandson given the acrimonious nature of the relationship I share with his mother, my daughter . . . but . . .”
She reached over and gave Lucetta’s arm a good pat. “Bram and I have corresponded on a regular basis, and because of that, I believe he’ll be more than willing to offer us refuge.”
“What if your daughter’s visiting him?”
“Iris is always in Cuba this time of the year, so we don’t need to worry about that. What we do need to worry about, though, is finding the castle from this vantage point instead of from the river. I suppose we can hope Bram has some type of a marker leading guests to his home.”
Finding that idea less than reassuring, but sending Abigail a smile of agreement nevertheless, Lucetta kept the horse traveling down the road, slowing its pace every time they neared a lane so they could read the small markers posted by those lanes.
“I think there’s something right up ahead, and . . . oh . . . my,” Abigail said, her voice trailing right away.
Bringing the horse to a stop, Lucetta leaned forward and looked down a well-maintained lane that led directly to what seemed to be some type of a gatehouse, but a gatehouse built to look exactly like a mausoleum, complete with stained-glass windows, stone sculptures on either side of it—not of the expected angels, but of . . . ravens. Turning to Abigail, Lucetta arched a brow.
“Should we drive closer?”
“I don’t think this could possibly be the lane leading to Bram’s castle,” Abigail said. “I mean, why would anyone build a mausoleum to mark the entrance to their home?”
“I have numerous answers to that, but none I’m going to voice until we discover whether or not your grandson resides here. Which, I’m sorry to say, could be a distinct possibility, since the castle’s name is Ravenwood and there are two ravens guarding that building, and . . . if you look over the door, Ravenwood is etched into the stone.”
“Oh . . . dear.” Abigail pulled a pair of spectacles out of her pocket, shoved them on, and then looked closely at the building in front of them before immediately pulling the spectacles off again and repocketing them, shuddering ever so slightly as she did so.
“Would it be safe to say that your grandson possesses a slightly morbid nature?” Lucetta asked.
“Of course not. Bram’s charming, and . . . the ladies find him to be completely delightful, from what I’ve been told—as I do believe I’ve mentioned to you a few times.”
Before Lucetta could reply to that, the door to the mausoleum opened with an ominous creak. Abigail grabbed hold of Lucetta’s hand and squeezed it, the squeezing becoming more pronounced as a man stepped through the door—a man who just happened to be carrying a rifle. He immediately headed their way, walking down the middle of the road until he came to a stop directly in front of the horse.
“Can I help you with something?” he demanded in a rather intimidating tone of voice.
Not one to appreciate intimidation, Lucetta lifted her chin. “We’re here to see Mr. Bram Haverstein.”
“Mr. Haverstein didn’t tell me he was expecting guests this morning,” the man said before he turned and nodded to another man, who was just now moseying out from the dark depths of the mausoleum. “He tell you he’s expecting anyone, Ernie?”
The man named Ernie shook his head. “Can’t say that Mr. Haverstein mentioned a thing about any guests, Stanley, and he’s not one to forget something like guests.”
“We’re not expected,” Lucetta began as she nodded Abigail’s way. “This lady is Bram Haverstein’s grandmother, and she’s here to surprise him, which is why you wouldn’t have been apprised of our expected time of arrival.”
Stanley stepped closer and scratched his head as he peered up at Abigail. “Begging your pardon, but I know Mrs. Haverstein, the grandmother Mrs. Haverstein, and . . .” He nodded to Abigail. “You’re not Mrs. Haverstein.”
“Of course I’m not, dear,” Abigail said. “I’m the other grandmother, Mrs. Hart.”
“I’ve never heard of another grandmother, and I’ve certainly never heard of a Mrs. Hart.” Stanley puffed out his chest. “Me and Mr. Haverstein are close, and I’m sure he would have mentioned another grandmother to me, if he did, indeed, have one.”
Abigail beamed a bright smile Stanley’s way. “How delightful to learn that my grandson maintains such a close relationship with members of his staff.”
“If you were really his grandmother, you’d know that,” Stanley pointed out.
Abigail’s smile dimmed, the action causing what little remained of Lucetta’s patience to run out.
“Now, see here, Stanley,” Lucetta began. “Mrs. Hart and I have been driving all night in order to get to Ravenwood, and that is exactly why I’m going to insist that you step a
side and allow us to proceed forward.”
To Lucetta’s concern, Stanley’s only response to that was to cock the rifle, right before he sent what she could only hope was a warning shot into the air, the sound of the rifle blast sending their horse bolting down the road as fast as it could gallop.
4
Excuse me for interrupting what appears to be a most delicious breakfast, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve had another incident.”
Bram Haverstein lowered the coffee cup that had almost made it to his lips, releasing just a smidgen of a sigh when he caught sight of Stanley hovering in the doorway of the breakfast room. He would have loved to have been able to say that he rarely saw Stanley while he was attempting to eat a meal, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case these days. Ever since the ladies of Tarrytown had begun descending on his castle in droves—although why they’d taken to doing so, no one seemed to know—he’d spent many a meal with Stanley, listening to that man bring him up to date on all types of peculiar incidents that were transpiring in and around Ravenwood.
“What’s happened now?”
“More unusual antics of the concerning type, sir, but this time I’m not sure what the purpose of the interlopers truly was.” Stanley stepped farther into the room and looked longingly at the silver pot resting on the sideboard.
“Perhaps you should pour yourself a cup of coffee and join me so you’ll be more comfortable as you give me all the pertinent details of this latest fiasco.”
“Don’t mind if I do—thank you very much.” Stanley moved to the sideboard, helping himself to a cup of coffee, along with a pastry and a plate filled with toast. He was soon sitting at the table, happily slurping his drink as he filled Bram in on the latest shenanigans.
“As calm as you please, they drove right up to the drive leading to Ravenwood, and didn’t so much as stutter when they requested entrance.” Stanley took another gulp of his coffee.
“But there were no young ladies present in the carriage?” Bram asked.
Stanley set down his cup. “See, that’s the problem, sir. I’m afraid I might have startled their horse before Ernie and I were able to scout out the interior of their carriage. There very well could have been a young lady stashed in there. If that was, indeed, the case, well . . . it would explain the reason that elderly woman made the claim she was your grandmother.”
Bram frowned. “While I’m not certain I understand the logic behind that statement, tell me this. . . . Should I inquire as to how you happened to startle the horse?”
“It would probably be in your best interest to avoid asking questions like that, sir.”
Stifling a grin, Bram considered the man sitting across from him, a man who’d not been qualified in the least for a job at Ravenwood working on the grounds—or pressed into service inside the castle when the situation warranted it.
When he’d first run across Stanley, the man had been selling items of a questionable nature in the midst of the Lower East Side, an occupation that many a man down on his luck had resorted to in that dismal part of the city. Bram hadn’t paid Stanley much mind, even though he had given the man a few coins out of his pocket, but Stanley had proven himself to be much more than a mere seller of questionable goods when Bram had been attacked by some unsavory characters looking for a bit of sport.
The two men had been together ever since, and once word had gotten out that Bram was more than willing to hire people from the tenements, others from the Lower East Side had joined their odd household.
Each of these members of Bram’s staff possessed unique talents, but they were not talents of a domestic nature. Nevertheless, given Bram’s unusual profession, he’d found some of these unique talents remarkably handy at times—especially since one never knew when skills such as pickpocketing or having far too much experience running confidence schemes would come in handy.
“If you’ll forgive my impertinence, sir, the rest of the staff and I have decided that something must be done about all these unusual happenings here at Ravenwood, and . . . we’ve come up with a few solutions.” Stanley stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, pulling out a handful of crumpled bits of paper that he took to smoothing out against the table.
“What do you have there?” Bram forced himself to ask.
Stanley didn’t look up from his task. “Our solutions to restore order at the castle.” He pulled one of the strips closer and bent his head over it. “This one suggests that you leave Ravenwood and buy a nice house on Park Avenue.”
“That would only transfer the lady problem I’m experiencing at the moment because . . . Do you have any idea of how many unmarried ladies live in and around Park Avenue?”
Stanley crumpled up that particular strip of paper, tossed it over his shoulder, and moved on to another one. “Ah, here’s a good one. Find a lovely young lady and get married, and . . . there are three suggestions—Miss Winters, Miss . . . I can’t read the writing, and . . . hmmm . . . Tilda, the new scullery maid.”
Stanley didn’t even bother to ask Bram’s opinion about that, but tossed the strip straight over his shoulder as he pulled another strip toward him. “Ah, another mention of marriage for you—this one recommending a lady by the name of Miss Buttermore.” Stanley nodded. “I’m beginning to notice a trend, one that has you seeking out a wife, although . . .” He looked at the slip of paper again. “I do think Miss Buttermore might be the niece of Mrs. Buttermore, your cook, so . . .” That piece of paper went over his shoulder as well.
“I don’t really see the need to continue with this, Stanley, given the somewhat problematic nature of the suggestions you’ve read so far, although do tell everyone on staff that I appreciate their concern.”
Stanley heaved a sigh. “Begging your pardon, sir, but finding a wife might be exactly what you need. Why, even though I’ve never married, I understand that wives can be a great source of affection and companionship, and if you were to settle your affections on a single lady—such as . . .” He pulled another strip to him, tossed it aside, pulled another, read it, and smiled. “. . . a Miss Cooper, who, it is noted, is quite pretty—why, I have to imagine Ravenwood would no longer be inundated with ladies on a daily basis.” He smiled. “A wife would also put an end to the rumors swirling around the countryside that you’re the mysterious rider galloping around on a black steed at all hours of the night because you’re up to something . . . interesting.”
“I’m not getting rid of Storm, even if I do eventually settle down and get married. Although . . . calling him a galloping steed is somewhat amusing, especially since he almost never travels faster than a plod.”
Stanley abandoned the strips of paper to pick up his coffee cup. “I don’t recall mentioning a need to get rid of your horse. If you’ll recall, I suggested you acquire a wife.”
“And you believe that will put an end to the rumors as well as put an end to all the shenanigans currently happening at Ravenwood?”
“If you’re married, people will assume you prefer to spend the nights curled next to your ladylove, not gallivanting around the Hudson Valley. And, unmarried ladies, along with their matchmaking mothers, will no longer have a reason to descend on Ravenwood in droves if you settle your affections on a particular woman.”
Bram took a sip of now tepid coffee and caught Stanley’s eye. “Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve already settled my affections on a specific lady?”
Stanley blinked. “I have yet to witness you paying any of the ladies who’ve visited Ravenwood any special attention.”
“That’s because this lady has never been to Ravenwood. Truth be told, I’ve not actually been formally introduced to her.”
Stanley abandoned his toast. “That seems a bit curious, sir.”
“Indeed, but you see, the reason I have yet to be properly introduced to her is because she’s a delicate sort, possessed of fragile and tender sensibilities.”
Stanley’s brows drew together. “You believe a lady with tender sensibilities is an appro
priate choice for you to settle your affections on, sir?”
“She’s perfect for me—lovely, charming, demure. Why, I can’t think of another lady I’d want to settle my affections on. But even given her delicate nature, she’s a lady in very high demand. Gentlemen flock around her, but because of her tender sensibilities, she seems reluctant to enter into a relationship with any of them, in fact, more often than not, she’s given them the cut direct.”
Bram blotted his lips with a linen napkin. “That right there is why I’ve been biding my time, waiting for just the right moment to become introduced to her. I don’t want to scare her off and lose any chance I might have of securing her interest.”
“I think you’re forgetting a very important fact, sir. You’re Mr. Bram Haverstein, a gentleman in possession of a very fine fortune, your own castle, a summer house on Long Island, more carriages than I care to count, a steamboat, and you’re apparently possessed of a face that all the ladies find swoon-worthy. On top of that, I’ve heard more than one young lady whispering about that fine dark hair you have on your head.” Stanley grinned. “Apparently, it’s a huge mark in your favor.”
Bram rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve ever caused a lady to swoon before, and honestly, my hair is a very nondescript shade of brown. I hardly think it’s unusual enough to have the ladies whispering about it.”
“You’re missing the point. You’re a catch, Mr. Haverstein, and that means this lady of yours, be she in high demand or not, will be more than receptive to accepting your attention.”
“I’ve never gotten the impression this particular lady is impressed by things such as fortunes and handsome faces, let alone nondescript brown hair.”