Grayson didn’t look at her. He walked straight out of the vast drawing room to see Aunt Sinjun, Uncle Colin, and Lady Blackthorn standing exactly where he’d left them, at the base of the ornate stairs, the golden plaster cherubs smirking down upon them, as if they hadn’t moved or as if no time had passed at all. They presented a frozen tableau. No, that wasn’t right. Lady Blackthorn had moved closer to Uncle Colin, too close, and Aunt Sinjun standing quietly beside him, the expression on her face curiously blank. Each of them held a goblet of the champagne punch in their hands. Had they drunk any of the punch? Neither of them seemed to be really here, only shadows of themselves. Grayson looked at the wide graceful staircase, followed the dozens of steps upward, but oddly, he couldn’t see the top—the stairs simply faded into shadows. Lady Blackthorn was leaning up now, her fingers lightly touching Colin’s cheek, and he was smiling down at her, and now he’d raised his hand to cup her chin, raising her cupped chin so he could kiss her, and Aunt Sinjun only stood there, unseeing, unheeding.
Grayson shouted, “Uncle Colin, Aunt Sinjun, I fear I am grown unwell! We must leave before I am ill.”
Nothing happened.
He ran to his uncle and grabbed his arm and jerked him away. Sinjun blinked, shook out her skirts, look confused, and Colin was staring down at Lady Blackthorn. Grayson shook his arm again. “Uncle Colin! We must leave!” Colin quickly stepped back, his look uncertain.
Grayson stood between them, gripped both of their arms. “Lady Blackthorn, I fear we must leave. Miss Blackthorn, a pleasure.” He pulled them away, aware that the butler, Beaufort, was suddenly in front of them, walking smoothly toward the cherub-carved dead-white door, opening it. Grayson turned, took one last look. Lady Blackthorn was standing perfectly still, looking after them, Millicent at her side, smiling, showing off her perfect white teeth, and she raised a slender hand and waved at him and mouthed, “Marry me.”
Beaufort said, “I have, of course, summoned your carriage, my lord.”
Grayson wondered how the butler had known to do that. He gestured them outside to stand on the top marble step. He stood behind them in the open doorway, stately and in charge, watching them, the too-loud music and laughter loud roiling behind him. And suddenly there was Frazier, the coachman, holding the horses still and nodding to them. Liam, the tiger, was placing the steps in front of the open carriage door.
Outside in the chill clean air, Grayson’s head cleared, and the pounding lessened, then disappeared. In the next instant, he saw himself lying on a stone floor, and he was so cold, and there was a rat staring at him. The image disappeared.
Grayson nearly shoved his aunt and uncle into the carriage. He closed the door. He looked up at the Ashburnham coachman he’d known since he was a boy. “When did the butler summon you, Frazier?”
Frazier scratched his whiskers, looked momentarily confused, and then his brow cleared. “Oh, aye, ’twere nay more than ten minutes ago, Mr. Sherbrooke. Aye, aboot ten minutes ago. Me and Liam were close by, ye ken, in a special place, we were told. Mr. Beaufort was kind. He sent me a flagon of ale.”
Of course the ale had been drugged.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“What a lovely ball.” Sinjun sighed as she nestled against Colin’s side in the carriage. “How very charming Lady Blackthorn is, and the manor house—do you not believe she has made it splendid, Colin?”
Colin was staring out the window into the night, silent. Slowly, he turned to his wife. “You don’t remember? She kissed me, Sinjun, and I would have kissed her back if Grayson hadn’t shouted at us. But my mind didn’t seem to be in my control. And you, Sinjun, you weren’t there. It was as if you were a shadow of yourself, an impression, but no, you weren’t there. And you still aren’t. How do I get you back to me?”
Sinjun blinked. “Lady Blackthorn kissed you, my dear? But surely you must be mistaken.”
Grayson was sitting on the seat facing them. He leaned forward, interrupting. “You remember that, Uncle Colin?”
“Yes, but I didn’t remember until we stepped outside.”
Sinjun grabbed his arm. “What are you talking about, Colin? You wanted to kiss that woman? I don’t remember that. We laughed and talked and—” Her voice fell off the cliff. She stared at her husband, then at Grayson, and finally she shook her head, whispered, “Now I remember, some of it anyway.” She shuddered. “It’s like a nightmare.”
Grayson said, “Do you remember what you talked about, Aunt Sinjun?”
She looked thoughtful, then frightened. “I don’t know. I don’t remember talking about anything.”
“The champagne punch was drugged,” Grayson said matter-of-factly. “I imagine you don’t even remember drinking it. But it’s over now that you’re out of that house, away from her.” He saw Sinjun wanted to say something, but then she shook her head at herself and stared out the carriage window.
He said, “Do you remember that the laughter was too loud? The music in the drawing room too exuberant?”
Colin was very still. “You said the punch was drugged. I remember now that a servant handed each of us a goblet of the stuff. It was a beautiful goblet, gold, and the handle was gilded, I’m sure of it. Sinjun, you were thirsty, I remember, and you took only a small sip, but like me, you didn’t like the taste. All this confusion, Grayson, and we only drank small amounts of the stuff?” He shook his head. “Odd, I don’t remember what I did with the goblet.”
“Evidently one sip was enough,” Grayson said. “All your neighbors, they drank goblet after goblet. I wonder what they will remember tomorrow morning?”
Sinjun asked, “What do you mean by that?”
“I realized it must have been like one of those Roman orgies you read about. You would not have recognized your neighbors, Aunt Sinjun. I hope they won’t remember anything. One thing I’m sure of—they will all be praising Lady Blackthorn—both ladies and gentlemen—and all the talk will be of her splendid party. She will become, overnight, the gracious hostess, a lady to be admired and welcomed into the neighborhood.”
Sinjun was fretting with her reticule. “But I only drank a sip of it, and yet I don’t remember that hussy kissing Colin.”
Colin hugged her to him. “We are free of her now. I think you will eventually remember, Sinjun. And I agree with you, Grayson, all the other guests—our neighbors—they will never remember, will they?”
“I strongly doubt it.” Grayson grabbed the strap to steady himself over a rough stretch of road. “It wouldn’t serve her for any of them to remember that they behaved like out-of-control Oxford students with no boundaries, no rules.”
Sinjun looked over at Grayson. “You told us what Jane said, that Belzaria wanted Colin, that she wanted to take him to Border and make him her slave.”
Grayson said, “I’d hoped Jane was being overly dramatic, but evidently not. And that means we must all take great care. Now, how old do you think Lady Blackthorn’s daughter Millicent is?”
Sinjun said, “Sixteen, perhaps?”
Colin said nearly at the same time, “Older, at least thirty, I should say, but now that I think about it, Lady Blackthorn—the mother, she looked no older than her daughter.”
They stared at each other, then looked at Grayson. “What is going on here?” Colin asked, his voice not quite steady. “Do you know how old she is?”
Grayson felt the threads weave themselves together. “I don’t think either of them has an age,” he said slowly. “I think their ages are what they want you to see. But I think Lady Blackthorn is indeed Belzaria, and that means we’re in deep trouble.”
“Because of Colin?”
“Yes, Aunt Sinjun, because Belzaria wants Colin.”
“But you are younger, Grayson. Why wouldn’t she want you?”
Colin stared at his nephew in the dim light. “I think whoever or whatever these two women are, they’re afraid of Grayson.”
When they reached Vere Castle, Hobbs handed each of them a lit candle, locked and bolted the
great front doors, and said in his pinched voice, “It isna late ye come home, my lord. The party wasn’t to yer liking?”
It was Sinjun who said, “I believe we were the first guests who left, but still, I remember being there a very long time. Pray, Hobbs, what time is it?”
“A pinch after eleven o’clock, my lady, only a pinch.”
They’d been gone less than two hours. They looked at each other, but nothing was said.
Grayson followed his aunt and uncle up the stairs, heard her say quietly, “I will not leave your side, Colin. If this—demon, or whatever she is—wants you for whatever reason, she will have both of us to deal with.”
Colin leaned down and kissed her, but he said nothing.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Grayson waited. He wasn’t surprised to feel the air itself shift almost instantly, as if something unseen parted it to come through. She shimmered at the foot of his bed, her pearls glowing in the soft candlelight. Slowly she became clear, and he saw her face was as pale as her pearls, but then it always was. She was tugging on her pearls.
I took back my pearl, she said clearly in his mind, and she held up one of the loops, her fingers around one pearl.
He wondered how a ghost could pick up a pearl that had been too real, how she could have possibly restrung it onto one of the loops. He started to ask her, but he heard her voice clearly. Ye saw her, didna ye, Grayson? Ye saw Belzaria, the demon?
He settled his head against his arms. “I saw both Belzaria and another, named Millicent, supposedly her daughter.” He told Jane about the drugged champagne punch, the bizarre drunken behavior of all the guests, ladies included, and how Colin and Sinjun had only taken a sip of the drugged punch, but still Colin would have kissed Lady Blackthorn if Grayson hadn’t stopped him.
I would have liked to drink some of that lovely champagne punch, but like ye said, the demon poisoned it. An’ all those idjits, those gowkies, the lot of them laughin’ too loud an’ dancin’ aboot like dafties. Ah, Grayson, but there was so much fuid—it all looked so very good.
Grayson would swear he heard her sigh. “I didn’t know you were at the party, Jane. You should have stopped me.”
Oh nay, to hear it from yer lips, ’tis different. Ye have senses I canna remember. Aye, I knew soon enough she’d poisoned that champagne, an’ so I made it taste nestie to Sinjun and Colin. But he sipped it, jes’ like a mon, always doin’ what he isna supposed to do, an’ he nearly pree the lips wi’ that demon. An’ my poor Sinjun, she took only a tiny sip—but the demon had put a spell on her.
I told ye, I told ye, now didna I, that the demon wants Colin and ye canna let the bitch take him. That canna happen.
“No, we will not let that happen, Jane. Did you speak to your kelpie friend, Barrie, at Loch Ness?”
Och, aye, Barrie tried to hide from me, nestled he was in amongst the yellow heather, but I saw his bare foot sticking out and grabbed it and pulled. He yaffed, jes’ like a wee lassie an’ so I told him. He said he couldna help me, that he had to find a nice big goat for the monster. Her bairns were hungry, and no fishers had ventured out—they were scairt feardies because a fisher had seen her.
I told him I’d tie him up with my pearls and feed him to the monster’s bairns unless he told me how to kill a demon. He hemmed and hawed, as kelpies do, forever trying to slither off, like weasely snakes, but I didn’t let go of his foot. This is what he told me, Grayson: A demon loves French sweet breid and will eat the French sweet breid until it falls asleep. Then ye must strangle it, if ye can find its craig.
“Craig? You mean its neck, Jane?”
Aye, that is what I said!
“Do you believe Barrie? Sweet breid—cake, Jane? That doesn’t sound like something that would make a demon fall asleep.”
That is what Barrie said. Sweet breid, French sweet breid. An’ he said it like I was a looby and ignorant, that everyone should ken how to kill a demon.
“What sort of cake is French sweet breid?”
The air heaved and shimmered with impatience. French sweet breid, ’tis naught but fruit and berries in pastry. Sinjun’s cook, she’ll ken how to make it.
Jane shimmered in the air, faded away, and then came back, fully formed, swaying in front of him, playing with her pearls, making one loop longer, then shorter, preening, something he imagined her doing most of the time. And that was a question: Did she see herself in a mirror? And what was time to a ghost?
She paused, and he would swear she stiffened, turned about quickly, then he saw the fear on her face, and she was gone, simply gone. He heard her voice frantic in his head: The demon is close. Ye must kill it, Grayson, afore it kills me and Sinjun and takes Colin.
Grayson pinched out the candle and lay on his back staring up at the dark ceiling. He heard a floorboard creak and wondered if Belzaria was here. When he fell asleep, he saw Millicent’s young face, and he saw himself pulling her back against his chest in the circular tower room. In Border. And she’d told him she was Queen Maeve and Belzaria was close. The two faces mixed in his brain and changed from young to old and toothless, and he was spinning from one to the other, seeing neither of their faces.
When he woke up at the rooster’s loud crow, close, right outside his window, he remembered all of it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Day Three
Vere Castle
Grayson drank a cup of Mrs. Keith’s splendid black India tea at the big servants’ table in the kitchen. Everything sparkled, not a single white dot of flour, not a single sign of Jane’s mad visit the previous afternoon.
Mrs. Keith said, “Ye say ye wish me to bake a French sweet breid?”
“Yes, Mrs. Keith. I have asked my aunt Sinjun to invite Lady Blackthorn and her daughter to tea, and I understand this is their favorite cake. Do you know how to make it?”
Mrs. Keith said, “I remember my mither showing me the ancient recipe when I was a bairn, goes back ever so long, even my mither didn’t know where it came from. It was a special sort of French breid, she told me. I will try, Mr. Sherbrooke.”
Grayson left the kitchen, his head bowed in thought. Sinjun had already written a note to Lady Blackthorn, sent Liam with it to Blackthorn Manor. She would come. He knew she would come. And she would bring Millicent. But what he didn’t know was if one could believe a kelpie named Barrie who lived at Loch Ness who’d told this to Pearlin’ Jane under duress. How could a certain sort of cake put a demon to sleep?
He knew he’d better have something else in mind, just in case, and it took him an hour to figure out what he needed.
* * * * *
At precisely three o’clock that afternoon, a very modern, very expensive carriage pulled up in front of Vere Castle. And because Grayson had awoken to remember everything that had happened to him, he recognized it immediately. It was the same carriage that had pulled up beside him that lost day. He stood at the window and watched the coachman, a handsome young man dressed in blue-and-gold livery, hand the reins to the small tiger, then he himself placed the step at the carriage door. He opened the door, bowed, and held out his hand to assist Lady Blackthorn to alight.
Her face blurred. Grayson shook his head, staring hard at her, but somehow he couldn’t seem to bring her face into focus. Then Millicent stepped down onto the step, and she was waving at no one in particular, laughing as she gave her hand to the coachman. When she stood beside her mother, he realized that he couldn’t clearly make out her face either. It was if they were wearing veils, only they weren’t. What was going on here? Their gowns were exquisite, identical, both a dark forest green, the pokes of their bonnets high, streaming green ribbons of the same dark shade. From his vantage point, they looked like twins, very rich twins. One of the chestnut horses neighed. Even the horses looked perfectly matched.
He turned to face his aunt and uncle, his voice low. “We will end this today,” he said, “or else I fear what would happen to you, Uncle Colin, to all of us. I know you do not wish to believe in ghosts, i
n demons, in the advice the Loch Ness kelpie Barrie gave Pearlin’ Jane, but we have no choice. Listen, neither of you should show anything but remembered pleasure of last night. You are grateful for being invited to her splendid party, all right?”
Colin looked stiff all over. He was torn, truth be told. The events of the previous evening were blurred in his brain, and he simply couldn’t be certain what Grayson had told him had indeed happened. Neither did Sinjun, but she believed Grayson implicitly, not a doubt in her beautiful head. But French sweet breid?
To Grayson’s surprise and dismay, another carriage pulled to a stop behind Lady Blackthorn’s. This one was much smaller, much older, bordering on shabby. The vicar alighted, nodded to his coachman, and walked quickly to greet Lady Blackthorn and her daughter. He was giving the ladies formal bows, talking all the while. Grayson didn’t remember seeing him at Lady Blackthorn’s party last night.
The three of them were met by Hobbs at the front doors of the castle and shown promptly into the drawing room.
Greetings were made, all offered a seat.
Vicar Gordon was effusive. “I always so enjoy coming here,” he said to Lady Blackthorn, then turned to smile at Sinjun. “The past lives in this room, ah, and the Kinross plaid, its reds and greens so bright, and furnishings to revere our worthy ancestors.” He was fully capable of continuing indefinitely. Sinjun and Colin had heard enough of his sermons to know only a blow to the head or a cup of tea would shut him up.
Sinjun nodded thankfully to Hobbs when he came into the drawing room bearing an old silver tray. Upon it sat a beautiful Georgian teapot, Meissen cups and saucers, and beneath a domed plate, Grayson devoutly prayed sat the French sweet breid.
Vicar Gordon turned to Lady Blackthorn. “I understand from my parishioners that you gave a splendid party last night, my lady. A pity I was unable to leave my wife, what with her putrid throat that came upon her so quickly. She is better today. I am so pleased to find you here.” And he gave her a big toothy grin.
The Resident Evil at Blackthorn Manor (Kindle Single) (Grayson Sherbrooke's Otherworldly Adventures Book 2) Page 6