Skeletons in the Closet (Phantom Rising Book 2)

by Davyne DeSye

  Petter could think of nothing to do but nod toward the man, for his words made no sense. He turned back to Constance. She had moved toward the broad window seat, and now stood facing him, her lavender skirts still dancing with the movement that had brought her to the spot, her golden hair glowing like a halo in the sun through the windows. He stood, again hypnotized by the vision of her beauty, until she held her hand out to him. He crossed the carpet toward her with what he hoped was not too much haste.

  He presented the small bouquet, and the movement with which she dipped her face to inhale the scent and raised her eyes to him matched his earlier fantasy of her perfection.

  “Constance,” he murmured, unsure of what he would say, but certain that gazing at her in silence would not suffice.

  “Are you rich, Petter?” she asked. She smiled and tilted her head as she watched for his reaction. She lowered herself to the window bench and indicated with a nod that he could join her.

  “Rich?” he asked, somewhat startled by the question, and wondering what had prompted it before he recalled the murmured statement of the rebuffed suitor.

  “Yes. Are you rich? This is something a young lady may wish to know about a gentleman caller,” she said. Her smile was so dazzling Petter almost wished she would stop so that he could focus on her words. He coughed into his hand before answering.

  “No, not yet. But I shall be… Constance.” He could tell her that he was rich, since his parents were quite wealthy by all the standards he knew, but he had determined to make his own wealth on coming to England, and he determined it anew now. He would win Constance on his own merits.

  “How shall you be, Petter?” Her interest in his future plans seemed quite innocent.

  “I am a master stonemason and an architect – the best I know,” he said immodestly. “This is quite an accomplishment at my young age, and it is only my youth that holds me back from success.” He hoped he didn’t sound the braggart – under normal circumstances, he would not speak in so boorish a manner – but he also felt that Constance was a woman who needed reassurances, and Michael’s warning rang inside his head again. He waited for her response, his breath held within him, hoping he had not gone too far.

  “Lovely,” she said. “Father does so adore his buildings – ‘investments’ he calls them. Somehow, spending a ridiculous amount of money on buildings makes him a ridiculous amount of money – not that I care to understand it all.” Keeping her eyes on Petter’s, she bent her head to the roses again, and then dazzled Petter with another winning smile. Petter imagined kissing the pink lips that smiled at him.

  “Father could help you. Father’s friends could help you,” she said. Petter wondered what she could mean, before catching the thread of the conversation, and realizing she was referring to assistance in his profession, in getting the illusive commission he so desired.

  “I… I would be grateful – indebted,” he stammered, “but I….”

  “I could speak to him, but it is you who must prove to be as talented as you say,” she continued. Her smile puckered into a delectable pout, and she raised a curved golden eyebrow and tilted her head at him, as if challenging the veracity of his earlier self-praise.

  “I will prove my skill,” he answered, and then feeling that the statement was too immodest, he said, “I believe I can prove it. Of course, your father must be the judge.”

  Constance threw her head back and laughed, and then clapped her hands around the stems of the bouquet. Petter could do nothing but smile at her, happy with whatever he had said to so win her approval. He was ready on the instant to declare his love for her, and thought to take her hand, but again, the image of the rebuffed suitor flew into his mind, the moment when Constance had pulled her hand from his grasp. He kept his hands in his lap, afraid of being too familiar with her, not wanting to earn her disdain after earning her golden laughter.

  “I called here today for the pleasure of your company,” he said, “and would do so again, if you permit me.” Again he had to force himself not to take her hand as she smiled at his words. “Naturally, I would be grateful for any assistance with your father, although I cannot conceive of why you would intercede for me so, knowing so little about me…”

  “I wish my… friends… to be successful,” she answered, looking away from him and shaking her head in such a way as to make her curls bounce about her shoulders. She returned her gaze to his, and asked, “You do wish to be my friend, don’t you, Petter?”

  “Yes. Oh, yes!” he answered, and this time, he could not restrain himself, and he took her near hand in both of his. As his fingers closed over hers, Petter remembered himself, and almost pulled his hands away again, but the pretty blush that colored her features reassured him that he had not taken an unwanted liberty. He was lost in the dizzying sensation of her skin against his own, and lost in her blue eyes as she turned toward him. He might have sat there for days, without need of food or drink.

  “Shall we walk in the park, Petter?” she asked, as she pulled her hand from between his. He stood, and offered his arm.

  “I would be delighted,” he answered, still feeling under a spell, wondering if sunshine and mild exercise would deliver him of it. He hoped not.

  That was how his day had begun. He had walked with Constance, accepted her invitation to luncheon, and later basked in her attention over tea, thinking as the afternoon passed that perhaps he had imposed on her for too long, but unable to bring himself to leave her. When he began to excuse himself, not wanting to wear out his welcome, she would hear nothing of it.

  “Nonsense,” she said. “Father will be home soon, and I would have you speak with him.” She smiled and leaned toward Petter. In an intimate voice, she said, “I would have you stay. I don’t know when next I’ll have such a handsome man in my parlor.”

  Petter blushed at her compliment. He wanted to jump for joy, and shout that she could have him tomorrow and every day thereafter if she said the word, but instead he answered, “I would be most pleased to speak with your father of my work.”

  “And I would be pleased to see to your immediate success,” she answered. Petter could only smile at her again, stunned and pleased at her unselfish interest in his own happiness and success.

  True to her promise, her father arrived a short time thereafter, and Petter set an appointment with the man – two days hence – to which he would bring photographs of his carvings, and several of his most ambitious architectural drawings. He took his leave of father and daughter, his head spinning with the euphoria of his successes of the day. Although it was now evening, he raced with all haste to Evans’ shop to begin preparations for the meeting.

  ***

  “Petter!” Phoebe enthusiastically greeted him as he entered the shop. She rose to approach him. “Father told me you would not be in today. I didn’t think to see you this evening either.” She seemed quite happy to see him.

  “Good evening, Phoebe,” he answered, distracted, moving toward his own drawing table, but then remembered himself. He did not wish to be rude to his friend – especially after so wonderful a day.

  He turned back to her, and her faltering smile came to life again under his attention. “How are you this evening?”

  “I finished with my plans today,” she answered. She gestured toward her table with obvious excitement. As she turned back to him, her dark eyes held his. When he made no response, she said, “Would you…?”

  “Yes! Yes, of course,” he answered, and began moving toward her drawing table.

  “I didn’t mean this moment, Petter,” she said, laughing. “Take off your coat. I did not mean to interfere with whatever task you had planned. I simply meant that I would appreciate your insights, or suggestions.” She laughed again at the quizzical expression that grew on his face as he stopped and looked down at his half-removed coat.

  He shook himself, befuddled, as if Constance’s spell still held him in thrall – which, he supposed, it did.

  “Of course,” h
e said again. He turned back toward his own drawing table and finished removing his coat. He threw the coat over his stool, lit the lamp at its head, and stood, torn between whether to look over Phoebe’s plans now, or whether to do as his mind insisted – to begin putting together the portfolios he intended to take to Lord Pendleton. After a moment of thought, he realized that his portfolios were already in excellent order, and he could complete whatever additional preparations he needed rather quickly. Completed portfolios would not bring the date and time of the meeting any nearer than two days hence.

  When he raised his eyes, Phoebe had returned to her drawing table, leaving him to his thoughts or his work, rather than pressuring him to her request by hovering. She was truly a good person and good friend.

  “At your service, Phoebe,” he said, as he approached her across the dim room. Her dark eyes were luminous in the lamp light, her appreciative smile turning up the corners of her eyes as she looked up at him.

  “Thank you, Petter,” she said, and moved off her stool to allow Petter to sit.

  He knew enough from examining earlier of her plans to know that her structure would be properly supported, and set out with an eye to proper flow and placement of rooms, hallways, stairways. He almost never needed to give suggestions with regard to those essentials of construction, and Phoebe always seemed to remember his suggestions and to incorporate them into her future designs. He no longer questioned her abilities, although her ambitions were futile in such a masculine field.

  His eyes and fingers traveled over the drawing of the building he found before him. He moved the top page aside, and then the next and the next, as he took in the layout of the plans. His astonishment and appreciation grew with the details he took in.

  “This…” he said, and could say no more, as he flipped the pages back and forth again. “This is like nothing I’ve ever seen,” he said. He looked again at the plans, confused by the combination of uses she had introduced into the building.

  “The top looks to be apartments or hotel rooms… no, apartments,” he said, “and then a central layer of offices, and then a ground floor which is restaurant or men’s club, and offices combined. You’ve… you’ve….” He raised his head to look at Phoebe where she stood above him, quite near. Her eyes looked a question at him, and she seemed apprehensive and yet eager. “What made you think of combining the uses?”

  “Something you said, Petter,” she answered.

  “I…?”

  “You spoke of your favorite restaurant, and lamented that it was so far from your flat, and from this shop. I thought at the time that it would be wonderful to have everything one desired close at hand. Home, work, restaurant.” She took a deep breath, and added, “Is it…? Is it terrible?”

  “It is fantastic!” He looked down at the drawing again, bringing the top sheet to the front again. “Now, I don’t know whether it is saleable, but it is fantastic.” He looked up at her now smiling face. “It is certainly an improvement to the apartment over the shop, or any number of the single-use buildings we have: Flats or offices, take your pick.”

  “Oh, thank you, Petter!” She bent toward him and put her arms about him for a quick embrace. Petter stiffened, startled at the sudden intimacy. Just as quickly as she had embraced him, she straightened again, and he could see the immediate flush of her cheeks.

  “Oh, excuse me, Petter, I forgot myself,” she said, both hands moving to her mouth.

  “Quite all right, Phoebe, I assure you,” he answered, wanting to put her at ease. “I was merely startled, not discomfited.” He smiled, and wondered at himself, at the tone in his voice that suggested he was pleased with her familiarity – which he was.

  Well? After all, we are friends.

  He turned his attention back to Phoebe’s plans in an effort to relieve the sudden awkward silence. He made some few suggestions – the widening of an entrance here, a rearrangement to the apartment spaces that would provide for a more efficient use of space – but his suggestions were more artistic than necessary, and when she questioned him over one, he admitted that her original design was better than his suggestion. Finally, there seemed nothing more to say.

  “I’ve kept you from your own work,” Phoebe said as he stood and stretched his back.

  “Not at all,” he answered, but his eyes moved to his desk. “I was going to assure myself that my portfolios are in the best possible order. I can do that tomorrow.”

  “You have another presentation?” she asked. Her straightforward gaze was full of excitement for him.

  “I do,” he said. His mind filled with Constance, and all that the day had meant to him – to his heart, to his hopes for a commission and professional success. He told Phoebe everything about the day, about his walk, his luncheon, his meeting with Lord Pendleton – even to including the ousting of the other suitor upon his arrival.

  Phoebe murmured something at this latest detail, which he could not hear or understand. It sounded as though she had said something to the effect that Constance was not very constant, but he could not believe Phoebe – or anyone – could say such a thing about his dear Constance.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “Hmm? Oh, I said that Constance must have been quite taken with you.” For once Phoebe did not meet his gaze with her own. Then she raised her eyes to his again, and said, “Which is quite understandable.”

  Petter flushed, and said, “Oh, well. Thank you.” This time it was Petter who could not meet Phoebe’s gaze. “I can’t for the life of me imagine why Constance would be so helpful with her father, but I am quite eager for the meeting. This could be the meeting I have been hoping for since my arrival in London.”

  “From what you’ve told me, she gave you the reason, Petter,” Phoebe said. Her voice was quiet and her tone gentle. “She wants you successful,” she finished, and turned away to return to her drawing table. She began to roll her plans.

  Suddenly, Petter heard Constance’s voice in his head. Are you rich? This is something a young lady may wish to know about a gentleman caller. This was followed by the other man’s warning. Just you wait until she decides you aren’t rich enough…

  A frown settled onto Petter’s features, at the same time that he denied Phoebe’s insinuations – her accusations. He did not like them, but perhaps she had misinterpreted what he had told her about the day. To his mind, Constance was the soul of consideration. He put his coat on, refusing to doubt his Constance, his love. He shook himself, also refusing to be angry with Phoebe.

  “I must be going, Phoebe,” he said, as he walked to where she still worked at her desk, returning tools to their proper places. “May I escort you home?”

  “Thank you, no, Petter. I have some things to finish up. Notes I wish to make.”

  “All right then,” he answered. “Good evening, Phoebe.”

  “Good evening, Petter,” she answered, and as he turned from her, “Be careful.”

  “I shall,” he answered. It did not occur to him until he had reached the street, that perhaps she had not been warning him to be careful on his walk to his flat, but warning him about something else altogether. He refused to think of what that might be.

  CHAPTER 9

  ERIK COMES HOME

  Erik reached the border of his own land as darkness was falling. He was frustrated with the length of time needed to accomplish his business in town, and frustrated with the fact that he could not push his horse any faster without harming the poor creature. He hoped that Christine had been able to complete the preparations for their journey – it would be safest if they could be away this night. Christine was capable of the feat, but he worried that she had not had sufficient assistance from the servants. He had not been of any help.

  He approached the manor house through the orchard, waiting for a glimpse of the light from the windows, hoping that Christine had been vigilant in keeping the doors locked against any possible intrusion. He doubted there was any real danger yet, but better to be safe than suf
fer the consequences of being lackadaisical at a time like this. He could have misinterpreted what he had seen at the docks with Mattis, but he could not make himself believe it.

  Erik was disoriented as to his location as the trees thinned. He must have lost his way in the orchard – he had not yet caught sight of the lighted windows of the manor. The horse must have turned in its path through the trees.

  His heart stabbed with fear and his breathing stopped as he saw his error. The manor stood dark before him. He had not seen the lighted windows because none of the many windows was illuminated. Christine and the servants were either huddling in the dark, or…

  Erik slipped from the horse and patted its rump, sending it home to the stables. Staying to the edge of the orchard, he moved toward the side of the manor house, searching each window, each shadow within and without for any sign of movement. Nothing. As he approached the front of the house, he saw the muted velvet blackness of windows open to the night instead of the slight gleam of glass he should have seen. Lowering his eyes to the ground below the windows, he saw the glitter of broken glass shards. The heavy front doors stood ajar, removing any hopes that all was well. He fought the instinct to scream Christine’s name to the night sky, as an animal might bay its loss.

  He swallowed, and held tightly to hope. Christine could have escaped, or she could be hiding. He refused to entertain the thought of his Christine lying as cold and lifeless as the manor house now appeared to be.

  Erik entered the house through one of the secret entrances into his tunnels, hoping to find that Christine was safe – safe and hiding there, as he had planned. He was not far into the tunnel labyrinth before this hope was extinguished. The tunnels had been breached, through mirrors, through walls. His lantern showed shadowed debris flung across the floors of the tunnels and the house itself. Sensing more than hearing the emptiness of the house, he stopped his attempts at silence, and began his search of the house.