“I wish I could say my father’s whimsical notions were completely false, but I’ve come to understand there was actually a tragedy at this place centuries ago. He must have based his ghost stories on the legend.”
“Oh? I didn’t know.”
“Not a murder, but a man did lose his life in a terrible way.” He pointed to the center of the courtyard. “In fact, the place where it supposedly happened is ahead. Follow me.”
A chill skirted across my shoulders as we came upon the dregs of a fire, and I stopped. “Look here.”
Piers touched his forehead as he stared one at a time at the five square stones encircling a pile of ashes. Clearly bewildered, he dropped his arms at his sides and paced across the yard. He stood at the base of the ancient abbey wall and yelled back, “It must have been a beast to move, but someone has done it.”
I hurried over to where he was standing. “Moved what?”
“The notorious drifter.” He pointed to a statue perched at the edge of the wall.
My mouth fell open as the inkling of a memory sparked in my mind. “The statue!”
“Then you do remember.”
I ran a hand down the cold, chiseled stone. “A little. The ghost had something to do with the sculptor?”
“It is believed that one of Kinwich Abbey’s resident monks set to work on this very statue. What inspired his sudden artistry is left to conjecture as he was never able to finish the face—a patron saint perhaps, or Richard the Second; various rumors have persisted over the years, some darker than others.”
Perhaps it was the emotive stillness of the crumbling walls or the unsettled fingers of the wind, but when I peered up at the faceless form of centuries long past, an explosion of nerves cascaded down my legs, followed by an unnatural yet inescapable urge to step away.
Piers took my arm. “It’s still looks as devilish as I remember it. Something about that empty space where a face should be—”
“Yes, I . . .” I stepped away from his touch, escaping to the center of the courtyard. “It must have inspired your father to make up that horrid story.”
He followed me across the tangled grass. “As I said, the story was not entirely fabricated. Turns out the statue really did fall on the monk while he was working on it. He was killed, which is why it remains unfinished to this day. No one dared to touch it after that. In fact, years after the monk’s death, the villagers came to the abbey to move the wretched piece at last, but somehow the statue fell again, mangling a man’s arm in the process. Ultimately, the abbey was abandoned and the statue forsaken where it lay in the courtyard . . . until—”
“You mean, someone had the nerve to stand the awful thing back up and perch it in the groove of the wall of all places? How did they even get it over there?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea. It must have taken several people. And I cannot credit such a strange decision. It almost looks as if whoever moved it meant for the statue to preside over the courtyard. See how it glares at us.”
I fought back a shiver. “All I know is I don’t like it. They should have hauled it away from here and disposed of it.”
Piers gave a little laugh. “Don’t tell me you still believe the story of the ghostly monk? He’s bound only to come out at night, you know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that.” I glanced once again at the hollow curve of lifeless stone, the shadowed emptiness where a face should reside but didn’t. Beat by beat the sound of my heart thrashed into my ears. Driven by a cruel imagination, a cold pair of eyes and a long nose took shape on the stone facade. My legs felt weak as my mind filled in the details where the artist had left off—bit by bit my attacker from Ceylon emerged in the stone.
I stumbled backward, and Piers’s arm appeared to support me. His voice sounded tight as his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we should move into the shade for a moment.”
I nodded, and he helped me onto the remains of a stone floor in the shadow of the one remaining wall and knelt at my side. “Are you well, Charity? I keep getting the feeling something is wrong, and I don’t mean Seline’s disappearance.”
I could read the question in his eyes, the candid tenderness of a life of shared experiences, the love we had never really been able to explore, but now was not the time to disclose what had happened. I could hear my mother’s voice in the depths of my mind. “Hush, Charity. You must never speak of this again. Your very respectability is at stake. Besides, such a thing makes people terribly uncomfortable.”
My throat felt thick. Indeed. Such a shocking revelation would do nothing but change things between Piers and me forever. I shook my head.
He settled into a seat at my side, his arm brushing against mine as he moved to adjust his jacket. The familiar urge of closeness tickled my skin, but the last thing I wanted from Piers was pity or even affection, for that matter. Hadn’t I made myself clear from the start? I only wanted to be left alone.
I inched away from him and pressed my hand to my forehead. “I got a little overheated is all. I was thinking about Seline coming out here alone so late at night.” It sounded plausible. It was why we were here, after all.
He glanced about. “The place is quite changed from the last time I was here. See those stones there.” He pointed to the center of the courtyard. If I remember right, they’ve been moved as well.”
“They look like they could be seats.”
“And the fire—I daresay Avery has been using the abbey as a meeting place. See how the whole thing is arranged?”
“But why would he do so?”
“Privacy? Entertainment?” He shrugged. “Either way, I intend to find out.” He pushed to his feet, then placed his hands on his hips, his eyes trained on the statue. “I shall ask him straightaway, and this time, there shall be no change of subject or conscious evasion. I have no time for anything but the truth.”
I rose beside him. “Piers?”
He placed his arm against the wall, and I felt rather small beside him, tucked as we were in the corner of the old abbey. Piers had always possessed a sort of commanding presence wrought by his early maturity and a deference few could manage. It had been intoxicating in my youth, but I’d not seen the like since his return from Liverpool. I looked away of course. How could I bear to do otherwise? But his fingers brushed my arm, forcing me to meet his gaze.
“What is it?”
I swallowed hard. “Seline told me the night she left that she had a plan. She fled the safety of Loxby Manor knowing full well who was here at the abbey. What if everything went terribly, terribly wrong and it is one of our dear friends who holds the key to what really happened to her?”
* * *
I rushed to change into an evening gown of sea-green Indian muslin, a favorite of mine, then entered the drawing room quite early for supper. Piers had declared with a great deal of irritation that he intended to confront Avery as soon as his brother returned from his all-too-convenient afternoon trip to town, and I had every intention of being present when he did so.
I found the lonely drawing room an empty shell, and with relief I took a moment to steady my breath. Twilight had crept over the house, plunging the ornate room into an ashen haze. Shadows blurred the furnishings’ otherwise vibrant colors and chased me across the rug to the window where I stopped to rub a chill from my arms.
I heard a click and whirled around to see Mr. Baker enter the room. He gave me a nod, remaining silent as he set to work lighting the candles and stoking the fire, but I could feel the question in his pensive glance as if he’d spoken the words aloud. Why was I here already?
I was spared an uncomfortable response as Piers wandered into the room as well. “Good evening, Miss Halliwell.” He allowed a small smile as he adjusted the sleeve of his dark blue tailcoat. “I see the both of us have arrived early for supper.”
I shot a peek at Mr. Baker as he ducked from the room. “Your mother should be down shortly. I was dressed, so I thought I might do a little reading before the rest of
the family joined me.”
He dipped his chin. “Reading . . . in this light?”
“I suppose I might have overestimated the quality of Loxby’s beeswax candles. I assure you, I read quite frequently at night in Ceylon.”
“And what exactly did you read, Madam Bluestocking?”
I cast him a shrewd glare. “Fiction mostly, but we didn’t have access to all that many books. I was forced to do with what I had. You would have been bored out of your mind—nothing on botany, I’m afraid.”
“A travesty.” He opened his hands. “And what book do you have to read today?”
I pursed my lips. “Oh, all right. I came to talk to Avery, same as you.”
“My valet assures me he’s returned and is changing his dress at present.” He walked to the sideboard. “Care for a drink?”
There was an ease to his voice I hadn’t heard since he’d returned to Loxby—it suited him. I relaxed my shoulders. Perhaps we could find our way to friendship after all.
“No, thank you,” I said as I sat on the sofa, my hands falling restlessly into my lap. “For some reason I can’t seem to get Kinwich Abbey out of my mind.”
“Kinwich Abbey?” Both our eyes shot to the door as Avery sauntered into the room. “Now why would you be thinking about that place?”
Piers pounced at once. “Why don’t you tell us, Avery?”
Avery shrugged as he poured himself a glass. “Devil if I know, other than it’s where Seline disappeared from.”
“Don’t take me for a flat. I’ve been to the abbey. I want answers, and I want them now. What were you and your friends doing there so late at night?”
“Easy, Piers, you needn’t yell.” Avery flopped into a wingback chair. “We were just kicking up a lark, nothing to write home about. I had no idea Seline would come flouncing out there cutting up our peace.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Trust me, no one was more shocked than Kendal.”
Piers twirled his quizzing glass. “So the four of you were doing . . . What exactly?”
Avery tried to hide his sheepish smile, but he’d never been all that good at deception. “It’s a sort of secret actually.”
“Not a well-kept one if Seline knew what you were about.” I drummed my fingers on the arm of the sofa. “With Seline missing, don’t you think it past time we all know the truth?”
Avery turned his attention to Piers. “But I gave my word.”
Piers edged forward, settling his elbows on his knees. “Is your word worth Seline’s life?”
Avery paled as he digested Piers’s statement, then sat up stiff. “Don’t gammon me. Seline simply ran away with Miles. Her life isn’t in any danger.”
“Is it not?” Piers ran his hand across his forehead. “No one knows Seline better than the three of us sitting in this room. Tell me Avery, note or no note, do you honestly believe she would run off with the likes of Miles Lacy?”
He sat for a moment, his fingers tracing the line on his breeches before he glanced up. “I’m not sure.”
Piers let out a sharp breath. “Why don’t you begin by telling us what the four of you were about at the abbey.”
“All right, but it cannot leave this room. And in a way, you already know something of it.” Avery shifted in his chair, the playfulness on his face long gone. “It all started about four years ago. I won’t go into the specifics, but we initiated our own secret society.” He melted back into the chair. “And here I am telling you all about it. I could get in serious trouble for this.”
Piers merely flicked his fingers. “Go on.” Being the elder of the Cavanagh brothers, Piers had always maintained a father-like hold over Avery, and today proved no different.
Avery had no choice but to continue. “We got rather out of control one night at the abbey. Like I said, we were kicking up a lark . . . I was not myself. Well, Kendal got it in his mind to move that old faceless statue. We all knew the story about the ghostly monk, and we were dipping rather deep that night, so we thought it might be fun . . .” He stared up at us. “It wasn’t. The thing was beastly heavy, and Tony managed to roll it over his foot somehow. That’s how it all started, you see. He planned to ride to Maidstone that very evening, only he couldn’t because of his injury.”
Piers opened his hands. “And?”
“Tony had an opera dancer there he’d made promises to . . .” He looked at me. “Dash it all, you don’t need all the blasted details. It was a sticky situation, one I’m not proud of, but Kendal, Hugh, and I decided to ride to Maidstone on his behalf and pay the chit off. When we returned, we lit a lamp on top of the statue to notify Tony we had completed the mission. That was the first official meeting of our society.”
Piers folded his hands together. “And Seline knew of this . . . society.”
Avery nodded. “Guess so. She must have figured out somehow that Kendal would be at the abbey that night.” He stood. “But that was the end of it. She arrived, had an argument with Kendal, and left. The society had nothing to do with whatever happened after that. The more I think about it, the more I believe she’s standing in a church or even over a curst anvil in Gretna Green taking her wedding vows this very minute.” He shrugged and started for the door. “Mother needs my assistance before supper. I forgot I told her I’d stop by, and here I am prattling with the two of you.”
“Then, by all means . . .” Piers waited for Avery to leave before turning to me. “Quite a reaction, wouldn’t you say?”
“It was indeed.” A prickle worked its way up my back, and I widened my eyes. We hadn’t even had a chance to ask about the look-alike cloak.
Chapter 11
I couldn’t sleep that night, consumed by what Avery had and hadn’t revealed about the abbey and the nonsensical beginnings of his secret society. I didn’t know Lord Kendal all that well, but I knew Hugh and Tony would think long and hard before agreeing to such a ploy.
Of course it was just the sort of thing Avery would do. He’d always had a flair for the dramatic. I scrunched the eiderdown beneath my chin, the chill of the room hovering about me.
The question was—had Avery disclosed everything about the night Seline disappeared? My shoulders wilted beneath the covers. After he’d dashed off in such a way, I highly doubted it.
The next few interminable hours involved a great deal of tossing and turning before I finally pushed into a sitting position on the side of the bed. Late or not, I had best find something to read or there would be no sleep for me.
I eased from the bed and onto the cold floorboards, gathering my robe and slippers on my way to the door. The onset of night had brought with it a deathly stillness that had swallowed up every inch of Loxby Manor—the black silence, the distinct nip of vulnerability. I pulled my robe tight around my neck.
In some ways it felt good to stretch and move. But as I cracked open the door to my bedchamber, the merest prickle of unease scaled my neck and fanned out at the base of my hair. It was a familiar sensation, one I particularly loathed, for I knew what followed. Like clockwork a series of images rushed into my mind—the green leaves of the tea plants, the sliver of moonlight, a dark figure walking toward me. This time, however, when my attacker’s eyes came into focus, the indeterminate glare of the faceless statue from Kinwich Abbey joined the all-too-real green eyes of the groom in Ceylon.
My breathing quickened and my muscles clenched.
No. I crushed my fingers into a fist. Please, God. No more. I was back at Loxby Manor and Captain Halliwell for goodness’ sake—not a sniveling, fearful slip of a person. I stared up at the crossbeams on the ceiling of the corridor. Take it away!
A soft purr sounded at my feet, and I jerked my attention down as Snowdrop rubbed against my legs. The tension in my shoulders eased a bit, and though a bit unsteady, I was able to kneel down beside her.
The poor dear had found her way back to my hallway, probably on her way to my room. I stroked her head, running my fingers one at a time around her ears. She’d arrived just when I needed her.
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Careful not to frighten her, I gathered her into my arms and pressed my nose into her soft fur. How did she know I wanted her? I glared down the darkened hall. Tonight Snowdrop and I would hunt a book together, and then maybe someday I could find the strength within myself to do so on my own.
I fetched the hall tinderbox and set Snowdrop down to light a candle at the turn of the corridor. The cat seemed happy enough to join me on my quest, so I allowed her to walk beside me. It was not until I reached the end of the family wing that I heard the ghostly murmur of a wail.
I froze. It was a woman to be sure, and she was crying. For a breathless moment I thought it might be Seline, but as I crept forward, following the gasping tears, I was led straight to Mrs. Cavanagh’s door.
She’d not closed it completely, and I could see her darting about her bedchamber through a candlelit sliver, her white handkerchief wild in her hands. Though I doubted any intrusion by me would be met with approval, I also realized rather sadly that I was the only other lady in the house, and Mrs. Cavanagh might very well need me.
I rapped my knuckles against the door.
She whirled about. “Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Miss Halliwell, ma’am.”
There was a creak of shifting wood as Mrs. Cavanagh thrust something into a desk drawer and slammed it closed. “You may come in.”
She was wiping her eyes as I pushed the door wide. “I am sorry to disturb you.” I motioned into the hallway. “I was in search of a book, you see, and I heard you crying.”
She waved some smelling salts beneath her nose before flopping into her desk chair. “I-I didn’t realize anyone was still awake.” She sniffed and used her hand as a makeshift fan. “You needn’t have bothered to check on me. I spend most of my nights as you find me.”
Her arm shook as she rested it on the desk, which drew my attention to a spot of red near the tip of one of her fingers.
“Oh dear. Have you injured yourself?”
She quickly covered the finger with her handkerchief. “Nothing to worry over. I’m afraid my nerves got the best of me this time. I daresay I bit it to the quick.” She closed her eyes for a moment before fumbling for her hairbrush. Several seconds passed as she watched herself in the looking glass before she spoke. “I suppose everyone will think me a terrible mother when they learn of what has happened—allowing Seline to rush off like she did.”
The Vanishing at Loxby Manor Page 10