Lord Samhain's Night (3 page)

And now, to crown it all, she was to leave King's Chase.

That would bring the blessing that she would rarely encounter Charlie. When that thought brought her close to tears, she knew she was foolish beyond all reckoning. This was confirmed when Charlie wrote that he had offered for Miss Gresham and been accepted. Nan did not, however, desire a double wedding and so the date was fixed for September.

Phoebe prayed Rupert find an estate far away, then there’d be no call to attend the wretched ceremony.

He certainly set about finding a suitable property with enthusiasm, and Phoebe feared she knew why. He’d detected her feelings and wanted to move her far from a rival. But was he desperate on his own behalf as well?

Did Rupert love Nan?

When Rupert discussed possible estates with her she had to pretend interest. She merely wanted one that would be quickly available and as far away from King's Chase as possible.

Four weeks before the wedding, Rupert went off to inspect a property called Jacoby Hall in Wiltshire. A few days later, Nan Gresham returned to the area and came to call at King's Chase, as gloriously beautiful as ever.

Lady Kingsbury greeted her as a future daughter. Phoebe did her best to be civil. Any bitterness she felt towards Nan, however, melted away when she realized how unhappy Nan was, and how disappointed that Rupert was not there.

The whole pickle was ridiculous, and she, for one, would have no part of it. As soon as Rupert returned she would end the engagement. Such a scandal would itself be an excellent excuse to leave King's Chase, at least for a while. What Rupert, Charlie, and Nan did then would be up to them.

She waited on a razor's edge for Rupert's return, preparing the right words, and the right arguments to overcome his protests, wishing the days would fly by faster so she could have done with this.

Then, instead of Rupert, a messenger arrived with grim news.

Jacoby Hall had been struck by lightning, and all within had perished.

~~~~

The funeral was held on the first day of April and the beauty of the season seemed a cruel contrast to the event. Leaves were new and vibrant, and the churchyard gay with spring flowers. Courting birds swooped and twittered in the trees above the grave.

Charlie was there, of course, somber with grief. Nan sent only a formal letter of commiseration, but rumor said she was deeply upset. Phoebe wished she could go to Nan and offer comfort, but that was impossible without exposing deep wounds.

For her part, Phoebe was grieving a beloved brother and suffering torments of guilt. On Halloween she’d acted foolishly, provoked by Charlie's easy acceptance of that business with the nuts. If she’d not done so perhaps none of this would have happened. She avoided Charlie and she would have left King's Chase immediately, but Lady Kingsbury needed her now. Until Nan came to act the daughter’s part.

Charlie stayed only long enough to deal with business, riding daily to Gresham Hall to visit his betrothed. One day he reported that Nan wanted to delay the wedding until a year of mourning was over. "Doubtless wise. We wouldn't want a ghost at the feast."

Phoebe flashed him a look, wondering how much he knew of Nan's feelings.

"What of you?" he asked. "What will you do when your mourning is over?"

"Perhaps go to London again," Phoebe said, but her future was a hopeless blank.

The summer passed and the raw grief healed, but Phoebe was still oppressed by guilt. It did no good to tell herself that they were all to blame, particularly Rupert. She could only consider her own faults, and they were serious.

The chief appeal of Rupert's offer had always been convenience -- the fault she had ascribed to Charlie. When Charlie had proposed, she’d been blind to how she felt.

On Halloween, when Charlie had refused to fight for her, she had accepted Rupert out of pique, not least because of Charlie's casual confession of keeping a beautiful mistress. Looking back, she saw how Rupert had goaded Charlie into admitting that. Charlie would never lie, and it was typical of him to confess such a thing with panache. It had hurt her deeply, however, which in itself should have warned her of the state of her heart.

Stupid, stupid, stupid fool. And the consequences were that one person was dead, and three others were to be unhappy. They would spread that unhappiness to family, friends, and children, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Was she to tell Charlie she loved him? How low that would make her look, and it could do no good as he was bound to Nan.

Was she to accuse Nan of marrying Charlie as a substitute for Rupert? That would be outrageous.

All she could do was leave King's Chase and hope to meet Charlie only rarely in future. Hope that when she did, she would be able to treat him as a brother.

Leaves turned to gold and fell. Crops were brought in. Birds flew south. And Halloween was upon them again.

At King's Chase, Lady Kingsbury and Phoebe had no company and went early to bed.

~~~~

The fires leapt wild, ringed with frenzied revelers, and horned Samhain, mighty Lord of the Dead rejoiced. His laugh boomed out. "Dance, my creatures! Dance. This is Samhain's night, when I rule the world, living and dead. The night when you live again, and when the recent dead pass before me for judgment. Bring them forward!"

Bewildered new spirits were thrust before the god.

Some went willingly to join the revelers. Others were banished to less pleasant places. Some wished to find a sweeter option and were willing to work for it. One young man was pushed before him.

"Ah yes," said Samhain, his brazen laugh shaking the great chamber. "The one who toyed with my name! How think you now, scoundrel?"

Rupert looked dazedly around him. The last thing he remembered was the roar of fire in Jacoby Hall, the choking smoke, and the screams of the child he'd been trying to save. He looked around for that child, but there was no one here he knew.

He'd gone from hell to hell, it seemed. He'd not thought he was quite so wicked.

He abruptly realized all he'd lost and could have wept, except that such demonstrations of emotion were now, apparently, beyond him.

"In this hell?" he asked, looking around at the cavorting revelers.

"This? Nay, little man. My hall is but the sorting-house. A full year's dead come before me here. Most choices are the matter of a moment. Some are more interesting. Such as yours."

Rupert stared up. "Are you Lucifer?"

Another buffeting gale of laughter. "That anguished angel? Do you see bitter loss in me? Nay. I am Samhain, true ruler of the Dead."

Rupert felt dread chill him. "I didn't believe in you."

Samhain grinned, showing a cavernous void and sharp, fiery teeth. "It is foolish not to believe in gods."

"It wasn't I who brought up your name! It was Phoebe. No, no, don’t blame her!”

Samhain leaned down from his throne. "You used me to cover your trick, little man." He exhaled. Flames drove Rupert back, but he held firm. How many times could a man be burned to death, after all?

"I admit it all," he said. "Do your worst."

"Puny mortal, if you knew my worst you would not speak so steadily. But you show courage -- and honesty now it is too late. Do you care to join me here?"

Rupert looked around. He had no idea what other options existed, but he did not want this. "I fear I must decline the honor, my lord."

Samhain roared with laughter again. "Ah, mortal child, I like you. I will give you a chance to correct your mistakes."

"My mistakes?" For a moment Rupert wondered if it was possible not to go to Jacoby Hall, but dismissed such foolishness. He was assuredly, and permanently, dead.

"You have made mistakes, deny it not."

"All people do. Must I correct every one?"

"Just the ones that still exist."

"What?"

"Knowing is the key," said Samhain. "You have but this night or you are lost. Be gone!"

The great figure clapped his hands. The world exploded and Rupert found himself shivering among the charred ruins of Jacoby Hall. He was not shivering from fleshy chill for he had no flesh. His spirit was shivering to be raw naked in a hostile world. He looked around. It was dead of night.

Good lord. He was a ghost wandering about on Halloween.

What the devil was he supposed to do? He screamed the question to the cloudy sky, but no sound came out of his imagined throat, and no answer came from the heavens.

Correct his mistakes, he thought frantically.

The ones that still existed.

Which were they?

Deciding to buy an estate?

Going to Jacoby Hall?

Offering for Phoebe?

Not offering for Nan?

His spirit shivered more as he went over his recent past. So many foolish steps. How could he correct them all?

Irresistibly, he wondered how Nan was.

At the thought he was at Gresham Hall, in Nan's very bedroom. Hesitantly, he approached the bed, feeling all the awkwardness of a man where he shouldn’t be. She looked childlike when asleep, but there was a tightness to her lips he didn't remember. "Ah Nan," he whispered, and reached out to touch her cheek.

She stirred and pulled the bedclothes up around her ears. He supposed a ghost must be cold.

He’d wooed Nan, but then the Season had reminded him that Phoebe wasn't a sister, that she was a potential bride, and a wealthy one. The temptation had been too much.  It had been wrong, but how on earth could he put it right?

Charlie would be good to her. She’d be Lady Kingsbury, and she’d always wanted to be a grand lady. She’d fallen in love with him despite her inclinations.

Then he realized that if this was Halloween she and Charlie should be married. She still wore Charlie's ring, however, so matters could not be too awry.

What had become of Phoebe? He’d hurt her just as badly.

At the thought he was at King's Chase. She too was asleep. If he could speak, he could tell her he’d never really loved her except as a brother, but what good would that do?

Damnation! No, that was too close to the bone. But his night was slipping away and he didn't know what to do, or how to do it. If he failed, Samhain had said he would be lost. What did that mean? That he would be a ghost forever, condemned to prowl these ancestral halls? Or that he would be cast into the torments of hell.

Charlie. Charlie would help him.

In a blink, he was in Leicestershire, at Charlie's hunting box, where his brother was making rollicking love to a buxom red-head.

Rupert was instantly filled with rage. "Charlie, you wretch! How could you? Unfaithful to Nan already..."

He might as well not have bothered. Was it just that Charlie was... occupied? Rupert had to admit with envy that at this exact moment the last trump could probably pass Charlie by.

He wandered the rooms of the house, discovering one guest, a stranger to him, demolishing a decanter of brandy. As Rupert passed by, the man started and shivered. Mischievously, Rupert rushed towards him, howling. The man leapt out of his chair, splashing brandy around. "Gads! It's freezing in here." He dashed under the covers of his bed, taking care to take the decanter with him.

Rupert gave him up and returned to his brother. Charlie was no longer where he'd left him, but in another bedroom, his own. He too was seeking comfort in brandy.

"Charlie, damn you, have you nothing better to do with your life than to bed cheap whores and drown your sorrows in brandy? What of Nan, you rogue?"

It was clear Charlie still couldn't hear a word.

Rupert touched his brother. Charlie blinked and rubbed his cheek, then walked over to check the window. He shrugged and headed to bed.

Rupert breathed all over him.

Charlie jumped. "Hell!" He looked again at the window, then shook his head and climbed into bed.

Rupert sent a silent appeal to all deities. How could he correct his mistakes if no one could hear a word he said?

He went instinctively to sit by the fire, though he felt no warmth from it. There had to be a way. What had Samhain said? Knowing is the key. Knowing what?

What did he know? He knew that Charlie wasn’t happy, for he only took to drink when upset. He guessed that Charlie had been drinking heavily for a while. The cause could be grief, but Rupert knew his brother was miserable because he'd lost Phoebe. Nan was unhappy too, and not likely to be any happier when married to a man who loved another.

In the days before his death Rupert had begun to suspect that Phoebe cared more for Charlie than for himself, though he'd suppressed the knowledge. He, after all, intended to do well by her, whereas Charlie had forgotten her in the arms of a whore. But the sophistry was no good. Rupert knew the truth. He knew what he must do. He went back to the bedside.

"Charlie. Wake up."

Charlie stirred slightly. "What?"

Rupert felt a blinding sense of relief. He’d guessed aright. The resolve to confess the truth was the key.  "Charlie. Wake up. I need to speak to you."