The Making of Baron Haversmere

by Carol Arens

  Joe intended to meet with everyone tonight. Over pastries and tea, he hoped to convince them that it was only anxiety making things seem what they were not. He had an oddly shaped button to try to convince them.

  She dearly hoped he had more than that, though. The atmosphere at Haversmere was unhealthy.

  ‘I can lasso that spooky shade for sure now,’ Victor proudly announced.

  ‘We should talk about that, Son.’ Joe sat down on an overturned barrel near Olivia and waved for Victor to take a place on his lap.

  Her heart went soft as she watched the pair of them head to head in conversation.

  ‘Folks like to talk. It’s kind of exciting to think about something so unusual going on. But listen, none of it is real. There is nothing for you to be afraid of.’

  ‘Willie, the boy who works in the stable, says the ghost is a woman with dark holes where her eyes should be. I reckon I’m scared of that.’

  ‘Listen to your cowboy, Victor,’ she said.

  Had it been such a short time ago that she had insisted Joe was not his cowboy? It had been, indeed—a very short time ago.

  Which only pointed out that she was wise to withhold her answer to Joe. Marriage was meant to last a lifetime and deserved to be given careful, deliberate thought, not jumped into with one’s heart wide open.

  Her past was proof of that. She wanted to do everything different now than she had then.

  ‘If you hear or see anything that frightens you...’ Joe ruffled Victor’s blond curls ‘...you come tell me or your mother. We can hunt down the scary thing and show you that it is as normal as peas.’

  ‘I will. But may I sleep with the rope nearby?’

  Joe glanced at her for an answer.

  ‘Yes, you may. But only as long as you do not play with it all night long.’

  ‘Yee haw!’ Victor scrambled off Joe’s lap. ‘I’ll practise so that I can capture that black-eyed, snake-haired lady and then folks won’t be so scared of everything.’

  Snake-haired was something she had not heard before. It must be Victor’s contribution to the gossip.

  She looked at Joe, shrugging. He arched his brows, gave her a smile that crinkled the lines at the corners of his eyes.

  His message needed no words. Victor was going to believe there was a ghost. Nothing either of them could say would make a difference.

  Her son could be a stubborn little boy.

  Had he not insisted all along that Joe was his cowboy? And had she not just called him that?

  In this case, though, no matter how firmly he believed he would lasso a wraith, it would not happen.

  * * *

  The wind whipped around the corner of the house and whistled under the eaves while Olivia tucked Victor into bed that night.

  Admittedly, it did sound rather haunting.

  Victor left the rope looped around the bedpost. Whether it was in dread or anticipation, she could not tell.

  ‘You need not send in Miss Hopp to sit with me. I’m getting too grown for it.’

  ‘Are you?’ she asked and kissed his forehead. For some reason what he said made her want to weep. Her baby was growing too quickly.

  She could have another baby.

  The sneaky thought nearly made her gasp out loud. Another child was not something she had ever allowed herself to hope for.

  ‘You are not afraid to be alone with all the silly talk going on?’

  She was turning down his lamp while she spoke, but even then his eyes looked crystal blue. He was so much like Oliver. Her heart swelled in joy, also in sorrow. Odd how both could happen at the same time.

  It seemed her emotions were all over the place these days. How could she expect to make a decision as important as marriage?

  She turned down the lamp, went to the door, but paused beside it. Even while she watched his eyes dipped closed.

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ she called softly.

  ‘Goodnight, Mama.’

  He must be very tired, indeed. When was the last time he had called her Mama?

  On her way to the parlour where the family was gathered for the evening, she tucked the sweet sound of his voice away in her heart so that she would never forget.

  But the sad truth was, she would forget. Already she could not recall exactly what his first word had been—or the day he had sat up without her support.

  If only there were a way to capture those moments, put them in a jar, take them out to view later.

  She found quite suddenly that she did long to hold another child to her breast. She imagined it cooing contentedly and gazing up at her with eyes a match to Joe’s.

  In her mind the baby was a daughter.

  Olivia must have been smiling when she walked into the parlour because Joe, Roselina and Freddie all returned it.

  ‘You have the look of a woman thinking about her child,’ Esmeralda commented.

  Olivia was not certain she had ever met a woman who could see so deeply into an expression.

  ‘Victor just called me Mama,’ she admitted. ‘It has been a long time since I’ve heard it.’

  ‘It is the sweetest name in the world. Joe, of course, was too grown to call me that when I became his mother, but Roselina still does every once in a great while.’

  Olivia sat in the only empty chair, which was next to Joe’s. She placed her hands on the armrests and leaned back into the cushions.

  Conveniently, the position of the chairs was such that the armrests of her chair and Joe’s aligned. Her little finger brushed his in the smallest of touches, but it was enough to warm her on this cold, blustery night.

  Joe cast her an odd, but compelling look. It was as if he read her thoughts even more astutely than his mother did and knew it was not only Victor she had been thinking of.

  Then again, she could be reading what she wanted to in the look.

  Until she accepted Joe’s proposal, she needed to put all thoughts of a new baby away.

  ‘The gathering is going to be grand,’ Lord Mansfield declared. ‘I look forward to announcing the betrothal.’

  This time she knew what Joe’s gaze upon her meant.

  ‘Should you not inform your father and mother first?’ Roselina asked. ‘I would not want them to think I snatched you away. I imagine they had a British lady in mind for you. One of a rank higher than mine.’

  ‘We live in progressive times.’

  ‘Perhaps so,’ Esmeralda said. ‘But it does not mean that society always reflects it.’

  ‘I meant this as a surprise,’ Freddie said with a great grin. ‘But I shall surprise you all now. Before I came here, I told my parents what I was up to. They gave me their blessing, in part because they knew it was useless to do otherwise, but also because they saw Roselina petting a wolf that night in the Duchess’s garden. You left quite an impression on them, Rosie. But I sent them a telegram, let them know you had accepted me. They will be here for the announcement.’

  ‘Oh—my word.’ Esmeralda looked alarmed. ‘I had not taken this into consideration when I planned our humble event. I fear it will not suit an earl and his countess. We have invited all manner of people, lowborn and higher, but not so highborn as your parents.’

  ‘Progressive times, Ma,’ Joe pointed out.

  ‘It will be good for them,’ Freddie said, laughing.

  * * *

  They had been discussing the party for an hour before Miss Hopp screamed.

  Joe leapt from his chair, ran for the hallway before the screech ended.

  The terror in the governess’s voice was not due to seeing a phantom. He knew in his bones it was something far worse.

  Olivia rushed past him, meeting Miss Hopp at the foot of the stairs.

  Breathless, the governess gasped out something about checking on Victor and finding he was not in bed. She had spotted
him from the window near the river and dragging his lasso.

  Miss Hopp had to hurry behind them to finish the story, but running flat out he missed the last of it. He had heard all he needed to. Victor was in danger.

  Rain pelted the surface of the river, distorting it. Standing on the bridge, it was impossible to see any disturbance to show a child might have fallen in.

  While he stared, Olivia gasped, pointed to something caught in a bush.

  Victor’s rope. The noose was caught on the shrub, but the long end lashed about in the water.

  Joe did not feel his feet while he ran, or his heart, only the rasp of ragged, fear-strangled, breath.

  Where was Victor? The water kept its secret.

  Joe was dimly aware of Olivia shouting her child’s name. Out of the corner of his vision he saw her racing along the bank.

  He yanked at the rope, but thorns tangled it further.

  Suddenly Lord Mansfield was at his side, cutting the twigs away with a pocket knife.

  Joe yanked again and this time the rope slipped loose.

  Freddie clapped a hand on Joe’s shoulder, pointing downstream.

  Something of a lighter shade than the water was being tossed about in the flow. Victor’s hair, one instant visible—then a longer instant—vanished.

  On the run, he twirled the lasso, but could not judge when to let it fly. The added weight of the rope being wet made a skill that was second nature feel awkward.

  His target bobbed, dipped, cried out, then became silent.

  Victor would be cold, breathless—terrified. But he could very likely hear voices when his head was out of the water.

  Joe knew it to be true because he suddenly remembered being the child in the river. He’d felt he was going to die, but then his father had shouted at him to raise his arm out of the water. Pa had gone out on a limb bending over the river and snatched his arm, pulling him up and to safety.

  From a distance, Joe heard barking—Sir Bristle sensing the danger and tearing across the pasture to help.

  The dog would be a lifesaver, able to drag Victor from the river when no one else could. He could, if it were not such a long run from the field. Even with four powerful legs and a warrior’s heart, he would not get here in time.

  The water was faster than Joe was. The current carried the boy further away. If he did not manage to rope him—

  ‘Victor!’ he shouted. ‘Lift your arm!’

  The small hand shot up, giving him a brief, bobbing target, but it was enough. He let the rope fly, watching as it caught around Victor’s arm.

  Victor had the strength to hold on. Better, he had the wisdom to wriggle his shoulders through the noose.

  Digging his boots into the mud, Joe pulled the rope, arms straining against the current while the wet line chafed his hands raw.

  Five feet from the shore Olivia waded in and caught her son up.

  The river grabbed her skirt, weighted it. She started to stumble. Then Freddie was behind him, helping him pull on the rope, giving Olivia the aid she needed.

  As soon as her knees hit the bank, Joe dropped the rope, ran forward, then snatched the cold, small form out of his mother’s arms.

  He was aware that Freddie helped Olivia up, supporting her on a run towards the house, but only dimly.

  One thing was on his mind. He remembered how frigid the river was. How it could quickly suck the life out of one so small.

  He recalled how, afterwards, the cold was as wicked as the water. How he’d been so numb he hadn’t felt the chill. He hadn’t felt his pa’s arms around him either, but he knew they were there.

  Rushing into the parlour, he saw his mother already waiting with warmed blankets.

  Joe set the boy down on the hearth so the fire would help keep the blanket warm.

  Olivia snuggled Victor on one side and Joe hugged him on the other.

  After a moment his teeth began to clack. This was a good sign. His body was trying to warm itself.

  ‘I...nearly...ha-had her,’ he said. Blame it if he was not grinning as if he had not nearly drowned.

  ‘Had who, Son?’ he asked.

  ‘The frightful...sh-shade.’

  ‘You must have seen it in a dream.’ Olivia hugged him tighter, which seemed to help with the shiver. His skin was quickly gaining colour.

  He shook his head, which must have been difficult being pressed as tightly to his mother’s heart as it was.

  ‘I was already awake. Just sitting by the window and watching. Then there she was, floating right out of a bush. She does have black holes for eyes, like the shepherds say.’

  ‘Your mother is right, Son. It was a nightmare. You thought it was real and went to the window to look. Your mind was still dreamy. Isn’t that right?’

  ‘Nope—she was real. I tried to catch her after I fell in the water. I had her, too, for a little while.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Olivia set him away from her, staring at him, her distress reflected in the narrowed slant of her eyes.

  ‘When I fell in the water she grabbed my hand. I tried to keep hold of her, but she’s a slippery ghost. She was reaching for me again, but someone screamed and she floated back into the bush.’

  ‘She ran away? Left you in the water?’ Olivia’s face flushed the purest shade of angry he had ever seen.

  ‘Umm, umm, she floated. Saw it with my own eyes.’

  ‘Your eyes were watery, Son.’ Joe pointed out. ‘It would look that way—but what did her hand feel like?’

  ‘Like any other hand, but quite cold.’ His eyes went wide and he grinned. ‘Like cold bones, all clackety and sharp.’

  ‘Victor Shaw! You must tell us the truth.’

  No doubt he thought he was. But he was of an age where such a thing might seem as real as not.

  Joe recalled thinking he saw an angel when he was being carried away in the river. She had rushed along the bank, calling his name. He remembered thinking it was his mother’s voice, even though at that time he no longer remembered what her voice sounded like.

  ‘Did it wear a ring? Did you see one or feel it?’

  He frowned in thought, nodded. ‘I didn’t see it, but I remember something hard hurting.’

  Joe picked up Victor’s hand, cradled it for a moment, grateful to feel the warmth returning.

  ‘Let me see?’ He curled the plump little fingers back, saw a red welt at the base of his fingers. When he bent for a closer look he spotted a tiny scrape.

  A ring with a stone. As clues went it wasn’t much. Many people wore rings with stones—men and women both.

  Olivia drew his hand closer to her, peered at the cut. Her face was splotched in patches of red.

  Joe had to tamp down on his rage the same as he knew Olivia was doing.

  Someone had attempted to pull Victor from the water, but had turned tail and run like a coward when they feared being caught.

  All of a sudden this ghost business was no longer simply a nuisance with folks being afraid and quitting their jobs. This had nearly proved fatal for a sweet and innocent child—his sweet and innocent child.

  Olivia might not have decided it was official yet, but Joe had. Someone had left his son to drown. They would pay for that.

  ‘Looks like you did see a spook after all, Son,’ he stated, drawing on calmness from some impossible place. ‘And you nearly caught it! You were as brave a boy as I’ve ever met. But the problem with it is, your mother was frightened—look at her, Victor—she is still trembling. We need to make sure our women never feel scared. I need your promise—your word as a cowboy—that you will not try to catch the ghost again. If you see it, come to me and we will see what is to be done together.’

  Victor sat up tall. The blanket fell away from his shoulders. ‘I promise, Joe.’ Damp blond curls shimmered when he nodded his head.
/>   ‘I’m proud of you, Son.’

  ‘This has all been grandly exciting,’ Olivia said, her voice deceptively light. Clearly she did not want to frighten him more than he had already been.

  For all of Victor’s bravado, Joe knew it was a great deal of bluster.

  Not only did he know, he remembered it first-hand.

  * * *

  As rumours went, this one spread more quickly than most. The facts became distorted before the sun ever came up.

  Eight servants were ready to quit because of what they had heard. What a surprise it was to find that a ghostly spectre had slithered into Victor’s room during the night, snatched him out of his bed and put a spell on him which then compelled him to leave the house and leap into the river.

  It was past time Joe summoned this meeting. If things went on as they were, he would have only a handful of servants working for him this time next week.

  The employees gathered at the foot of the steps, huddled into their coats against the wind.

  His intention had been to invite everyone inside, but a third of them refused because of the stopped clock and the ghostly visit to the nursery. No one seemed to notice that the clock had been ticking happily away ever since Olivia wound it.

  The cook, a wonderful woman who thought the rest of the staff had lost their minds, poured tea and passed it about. Joe listened to her as she went about the task, telling one fearful fellow he was addled and another pasty-faced woman she was hysterical.

  Behind the crowd Joe could see far into the distance, past emerald-coloured fields dotted with grazing sheep, beyond the blue lake, all the way to the rugged fells.

  Not so long ago he believed there was no place he could love as much as he did Wyoming.

  He was wrong. Seeing it all now—the land and the people—his heart further shifted. It was as if roots that had been ripped out were growing again. The soil of Haversmere was every bit as dear to him as the soil at the ranch had been.

  With his family standing on the porch behind him—and he counted Olivia and Victor among them—he understood this was where he belonged.