Haunted by the Earl's Touch

by Ann Lethbridge

  Unwanted colour rose to her cheeks. It had nothing to do with that considering look. It was embarrassment at how poor she looked compared to the rest of them.

  With her valise gone, she only had the dress she’d worn yesterday, a fine merino wool decorated with Brussels lace at neckline and cuff. Small pieces of lace, to be sure, but their purchase had been wickedly extravagant for a poor schoolteacher. And hardly worth the investment, once she’d realised Mr Allerdyce’s true intention.

  Gerald ceased listening to his mother and looked over at her. ‘Feeling better, Miss Wilding?’

  The boy was as graceless as a puppy to remind her of the scene he’d interrupted the day before. She smiled coolly. ‘Quite fine, Gerald.’

  His mother’s head came up like a hound scenting a fox. ‘Not well, Miss Wilding?’ She was beautifully dressed, her gown of rose silk and the peacock feather in her turban more suited to a ball than an evening at home. Or were they? What would a country schoolteacher know of the style nobility employed en famille, apart from what she read in the fashion magazines?

  ‘She was crying,’ Gerald declared with a glare at the earl.

  ‘I received some unwelcome news in the post. The earl had nothing to do with it.’

  An expression chased across the earl’s face. Surprise? Had he thought she would expose his dastardly plot to his family? Still, she wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to defend him, except that they held him in such disdain, it set up her hackles.

  ‘Dinner is served, my lord,’ Manners said.

  Mrs Hampton moved smoothly to take the earl’s arm. An undeniable flash of annoyance darkened his eyes. He was lucky to have a family. Mary would have loved to have an aunt or two. And as the older and most senior woman present it was only polite that he should escort her into dinner.

  He gathered himself quickly, she was pleased to see, walking ahead of the party with all the grace of a courtier. Indeed, his innate elegance continually surprised her.

  Jeffrey held out his arm. ‘Miss Wilding?’

  She took it and instantly became aware of her height. Jeffrey wasn’t short for a man, but she was ridiculously tall for a woman, and she looked down on the top of his head. She could see the whorl of hair at his crown. If he noticed the disparity, he didn’t show it and seated her opposite his aunt, taking the place at Mary’s side. Gerald settled in beside his mother.

  The footmen served the first courses and retired. Conversation was desultory. The weather, which was threatening snow. An invitation to be declined because the family was in mourning.

  During a lull, Mrs Hampton turned to Mary with a condescending smile. ‘You know, there are several Wildings among my acquaintance, my dear. Might you be a relation, perhaps? They are from Norfolk.’

  Her heart stilled. Could she indeed have relatives somewhere? How would she ever know? Since soup required careful attention, as she’d always taught her girls, she sipped at her spoonful of leek and potato before she attempted a reply. The delay gave her a smidgeon of time to think how to word an answer that did not make her seem to be asking for sympathy. ‘I hale from St John’s Parish in Hampshire. I know nothing of my relatives.’

  ‘Perhaps a junior branch, then,’ she said. ‘Had you belonged to one of the great families, they no doubt would have claimed you.’

  ‘Certainly no family members came forward,’ Mary said calmly as if she had never dreamt of an aunt or an uncle searching England for their lost niece.

  ‘I doubt Grandfather would have lifted a hand to help, if there were others with the responsibility,’ Jeffrey drawled. ‘Can I cut you a piece of this excellent fowl, Miss Wilding?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Jeffrey filled her plate with the chicken and some buttered parsnips.

  The earl scowled darkly. ‘St John’s Parish in Hampshire, you said?’

  She met his gaze. ‘You have heard of it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor me,’ Mrs Hampton said. ‘My brother, now, he is an archdeacon at York Minster.’

  ‘And likely to bore a fellow to death with his sermonising,’ Gerald muttered.

  His mother appeared not to notice.

  Mary had the feeling that Mrs Hampton did a great deal of not noticing when it came to her son. It was one way to avoid unpleasantness, Mary supposed. No wonder he seemed spoilt.

  The servants entered to clear the table and added a remove of game pie.

  ‘It must come as a welcome change, Miss Wilding,’ Mrs Hampton continued, ‘to find yourself visiting such a noble seat as Beresford Abbey. It has been in our family since the Dissolution, you know. The house is quite distinctive, I believe.’

  Mary caught herself glancing at the earl for his reaction, but he seemed intent on the wine in his glass, his expression inscrutable. ‘It is a very interesting house,’ Mary said. ‘Full of strange sounds.’

  Both Jeffrey and Gerald fixed their gazes on her face, both with expressions of innocence. Gerald more angelic than his older cousin, whose shirt points were so high his neck all but disappeared in the starched white cravat.

  ‘Have you heard strange sounds?’ Jeffrey asked. Was his tone a little too innocent?

  ‘What struck me as strange,’ she said, ‘was how loud the sea sounds in some of the passageways. And sometimes in my chamber.’ She had forgotten until this moment that not long before she had heard the racket above her head, the low rumble of the sea had been most distinct.

  The earl did look up then. Instead of offering his earlier plausible explanation, he was watching his cousins.

  Gerald waved an airy hand. ‘Likely the tide was high. Caves run all through these cliffs. Very useful for smuggling or sedition, depending on who holds the crown.’

  ‘The Beresfords are loyal to the House of Hanover,’ Mrs Hampton announced.

  ‘They are now,’ Jeffrey said with a cynical twist to his lips.

  Mary imagined a network of caves beneath the house. ‘Is the house likely to collapse?’

  ‘Not likely,’ Jeffrey scoffed. ‘Or not for centuries.’

  Mary didn’t like the sound of it at all.

  The earl was looking at Jeffrey very intently. ‘Do you know the way into these caves?’

  ‘From the sea. I have seen them from the sailboat we use in the summer,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Never attempted a landing. Too many rocks. The tunnels were blocked up years ago. Isn’t that right, Ger?’

  Gerald nodded.

  The thought of smugglers, or anyone, being able to make their way secretly into the house was downright disturbing.

  * * *

  With a change of tablecloth, the final course appeared. Jeffrey and Gerald descended into an argument about the merits of the local hunt. The earl leaned back in his chair sipping his burgundy and listening with a bored expression. For some odd reason, Mary felt as if he was watching her, but every time she looked his way, his gaze was idly fixed on the two young men.

  Which was good. She did not want his attention.

  Mrs Hampton gave a little sniff and dabbed at her delicate little nose with a handkerchief and leaned closer to the earl. ‘Now the funeral is over I must think about finding a new home. His lordship was very fond of Gerald and insisted we stay here after my dear husband’s demise.’ She sighed. ‘I could go to my brother, naturally. But the demands of his position—archdeacon, you know.’

  The earl grimaced. ‘Actually, madam, I was hoping you would stay. Miss Wilding needs a chaperon.’

  Mrs Hampton visibly brightened. ‘Miss Wilding is staying?’

  ‘Naturally,’ the earl drawled. ‘She has nowhere else to go.’

  Mary felt prickles run across her shoulders and down her back. Prickles of anger. Prickles of pain at his cool dismissal of her loss. She opened her mouth to deny his assertion, then closed it again. He was right. For the moment, she did have nowhere to go. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t formulate a plan.

  ‘I suppose I could remain for a while, if I can be of assistance,�
�� Mrs Hampton said, her brightening expression giving the lie to her begrudging words. ‘You would like that, would you not, Gerald? If we stayed?’

  Gerald looked at his mother and his eyes lowered as if shielding his thoughts. ‘I wanted to go to London.’

  ‘Not until we are out of mourning,’ his mother said.

  ‘Then it doesn’t matter where we go,’ her son replied with a shrug.

  His lordship ran a fingertip around the rim of his glass, his hard gaze fixed on his aunt. ‘Miss Wilding needs help with her wardrobe.’

  ‘My wardrobe is fine,’ Mary said quickly.

  The earl’s grey gaze settled on her and she wanted to squirm under that intense scrutiny. ‘I understood your luggage went astray. We cannot have the Beresford heiress tramping around the countryside in rags, now can we?’

  His glance flicked over her person and heat flushed to her hairline at that critical regard. He must think her such a dowd, but, more to the point, he seemed to have decided he had the right to make decisions on her behalf.

  Mrs Hampton smiled at her son. ‘Then it is settled. We will stay.’

  Her son flushed. His eyes flashed fury. ‘I don’t see why we want to stay now he is here.’

  ‘A common refrain,’ the earl said coolly. He didn’t look at Mary, but her stomach dipped all the same. Sympathy in the face of his cousin’s rejection, when it really was none of her business.

  ‘I could stay with Jeffrey. At his lodgings,’ Gerald said with a defiant look at his mother. ‘Couldn’t I, cuz?’

  Jeffrey almost choked on a mouthful of food.

  The earl’s lip curled in distaste. ‘What about it, cuz?’ he asked in silken tones. ‘Will you take him in? I for one would be for ever in your debt.’

  It seemed the earl didn’t need her sympathy.

  ‘Gerald. You would not desert me at such a time,’ Mrs Hampton said.

  Gerald shot her a sulky glare.

  ‘You could, of course, old chap. Always welcome,’ Jeffrey said, recovering his voice. ‘But my apartments have only one bed.’

  ‘I could sleep on the floor.’

  Mrs Hampton made a sound of horror.

  Jeffrey shook his head. ‘My man wouldn’t like that above half,’ he pronounced, as if it trumped all objections.

  ‘Your constitution is far too delicate for such hardship, Gerald,’ his mother said. ‘I could not permit it.’

  ‘My dear madam,’ the earl said clearly tired of the conversation, ‘the decision is made. You will chaperon Miss Wilding and see to her dress. And Gerald will of necessity remain at your side.’

  ‘You cannot do better than my aunt for advice on style,’ Jeffrey added, joining the ranks of traitors siding with the earl.

  Mrs Hampton simpered.

  Mary dipped her head meekly. As a reward she received a suspicious glance from the earl which she met head on with a cool smile.

  Gerald, who had subsided into his own thoughts for the previous few moments, raised his head and turned to look at her. ‘What of the White Lady, Miss Wilding?’ he asked. ‘Have you heard any screams or clanking chains?’

  Oh, the wretch. It must be he who had made those noises. Though how, when there had been no sign of him, she could not begin to imagine. She couldn’t keep her gaze from darting to the earl, to see if he shared her opinion.

  He shook his head very slightly. Because he didn’t want Gerald to know he was suspected? Perhaps he intended to catch the boy out. She certainly felt better at this proof she had not imagined those unearthly noises, as well as the proof that the earl was finally taking them seriously.

  She narrowed her eyes, looking at Gerald’s face for signs of guilt, and received a glance of innocent interest.

  The butler entered at that moment. ‘A gentleman to see you, my lord. Lord Templeton. He says he is expected.’

  The earl leapt to his feet. ‘Expected, but not this soon.’

  ‘I have taken the liberty of showing him to the library, my lord, since he declined to join the family in the drawing room for tea.’

  ‘Very good. I will join him there immediately.’

  It was the first time Mary had seen him looked pleased about anything. His delight made him look decidedly more handsome, but his pleasure only added to her resentment that he still had a friend who would come to visit. Hopefully he would be too busy with the man to notice when she slipped away on the morrow.

  ‘How rude,’ Mrs Beresford said, looking at the door that closed behind him. ‘I suppose one can’t expect manners from a coalminer’s son, even if he does have a title.’

  ‘I think he has shown a great deal of forbearance,’ Mary muttered.

  Gerald grinned at her. ‘You did hear the White Lady, didn’t you?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ she said truthfully, giving him a bland look. It wasn’t a lie, because she was now certain it had been Gerald all along.

  Jeffrey raised a brow. ‘I’m glad to hear it, Miss Wilding. As Gerald said this morning, any sighting of her ghostly form usually heralds a death in the family. And one is enough, don’t you think?’

  He looked so dashed innocent that perhaps it was him playing cruel jokes and not his younger cousin. Or they were in it together. Her stomach dipped. ‘Then we certainly have something to be grateful for,’ she replied and put down her knife and fork at the loss of her appetite at what felt like a threat. Another one. ‘One is certainly enough for any family.’

  ‘Will you take tea in the drawing room, Miss Wilding?’ Mrs Hampton asked with what she must have considered a great deal of condescension to one as so far down the social scale.

  Mary gave her a polite smile. ‘No, thank you. I find I am quite tired. I think I will retire.’

  ‘Oh, but we should really pull out some fashion plates. Discuss colours, if we are to go shopping tomorrow.’

  Discuss fashion plates after all that had been implied? ‘Another time.’ She hurried from the room.

  * * *

  Back in her own chamber, she held her hands out to the fire and then rubbed her palms together. Her room seemed even colder than usual. In fact, there was a definite draught. She got up and went to the window to see if it had been left open, although with the curtains so still, it hardly seemed likely.

  No. It was closed. She tugged at the latch just to be sure. Put her palms to the edges. Nothing.

  Then where was the chill coming from?

  Frowning, she toured the perimeter of the room, trying to feel the direction of this strange blast of cold air.

  Here. Beside the fireplace.

  She ran her palm along the corner beside the chimney-breast and distinctly sensed cold pressure against her skin. Was there something wrong with the chimney? Bricks coming loose, walls falling down? Like those old tunnels?

  She probably should report it to the earl. Or his steward. But not now. It was far too late and the earl would be busy with his guest.

  She reached out again just to be sure she was not mistaken, running her palm up the wall. The draught stopped at eye level and was forceful enough to send the adjacent candle in the wall sconce flickering and smoking. She pulled her scissors from her reticule and on tiptoes trimmed the wick, grasping the base of the brass sconce for balance.

  A grinding noise. Vibration under her fingers. She jumped back, her heart in her throat.

  She could have sworn the wall moved towards her. It wasn’t moving now and the odd noise had stopped. It had definitely come from inside the wall, not from above like before.

  Or at least she was fairly certain it had. And the wall looked odd, out of line.

  Once more she put her hand on the base of the sconce. It moved, twisted under her hand. The grinding started again.

  The sconce turned upside down as she pushed harder. Quickly she blew out the candle. The last thing she needed was to start a fire.

  A section of wall slowly swung inwards, stopping at right angles. Cold air rushed past her. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell. In th
e distance she could hear the sea, much as she had done when the earl had led her to her room by way of the basement. And again before those strange noises above her head. Pulling her shawl tight against the sudden chill, she stared into pitch blackness.

  A priest’s hole? It would make sense for a house with a connection with the Roman Catholic Church to have such a thing. She’d heard about them countless times when reading history books. She also read about such things in Gothic novels. They always led to something bad for the heroine. Only this wasn’t a Gothic novel and she wasn’t a heroine. She was a sensible schoolteacher.

  Hopefully, whoever had used the priest’s hole had managed to get out, though, and it didn’t contain their wasted bones. She shuddered at the thought of someone trapped inside the darkness behind that wall. Nonsense. Anyone who went in must have known how to get out when the coast was clear.

  She peered in. The space appeared larger than one would expect. How odd. She went to the bedside table for her candlestick and marched back to the gaping hole. She held the candle out in front of her and revealed what looked like a passage into a tunnel that branched left and right. A tunnel? One of those that led to the caves described at dinner tonight? It didn’t look in the least like a ruin. And why did it lead straight to her chamber? Her stomach gave a sickening lurch.

  Who else knew about this? And exactly where did it go? Down to the sea? To the outside? Could she use it to escape the earl’s high-handed edict that she might not leave? Her heart beating loud in her ears as she held her breath, she stepped over the threshold.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention.

  What if the door closed behind her, leaving her trapped? She backed out into her room, set her candle on the mantel and dragged over the chair from beside the hearth. She stood it in the opening. The door would be unable to close with that in the way. Not completely. She picked up her candle once more and plunged into the dark.

  The candle’s flickering light illuminated rough-stone walls glistening with damp. Creeping along one step at a time, she wondered what on earth she would find. The passage took a turn and came to a set of stairs leading up. Stairs that seemed to mirror those just beyond her chamber door, only narrower and the steps rougher-hewn. She climbed upwards carefully and came to a blank wall. She raised her candle high and saw a sconce much like the one in her bedroom. She twisted the base and started back as the wall shifted inwards, revealing the chamber above her room and in the corner, against the passage wall, a length of chain and a rusty cannonball.