Mesmerized (12 page)

There was, not surprisingly, no sign of the robed figure. Dusk had fallen fast, the poor light in which they had witnessed the “monk” now having turned to almost complete darkness. They walked quickly along the path to where they had last seen the figure and stopped at the top of the stairs leading down into the lower garden.

“Bloody hell!” Stephen exclaimed. “We’ll never catch him in this light. He could have gone anywhere.”

He turned and really looked at Olivia for the first time, taking in her disheveled state. Olivia realized that her sash had slipped loose during her mad dash, so that the sides of her dressing gown hung loosely, a gap down the center at the top exposing the white lace of her chemise. She straightened, raising her chin, and belted the robe more tightly.

“I was about to dress for dinner,” she explained with all the dignity she could muster and pushed back her hair with her hands.

Stephen’s eyes went to her hair, tumbling down to her hips, thick and brown, and it was a moment before he said, tight-lipped, “Yes, of course.”

“Miss Olivia!” They turned, startled, and saw Tom Quick trotting toward them, holding a lantern in each hand.

“Tom!” Olivia said gratefully. “Thank heavens you thought to bring a light.”

“It were lookin’ that dark, I thought,” he agreed, handing one of the lanterns to St. Leger.

“Good,” Stephen said. “Let’s see if we can catch some sign of him.”

They went down the shallow steps into the lower garden. Tom, holding his lantern up to cast as much light as possible, turned to the right. Stephen and Olivia went the other way. Olivia, holding the long skirts of her dressing gown up to her ankles to keep them from brushing the ground, peered carefully to each side of her for any glimpse of their visitor. They wound through the west half of the garden, taking every path they found. Now and again they ran into Tom, searching from his side of the garden, and at last they came together at the very bottom of the garden, at the end of the path. Beyond lay only dark trees and, after that, a meadow. Not surprisingly, they had found no sign of their quarry.

“It’s hopeless,” Stephen said with some bitterness. “Chasing someone dressed in black through the darkness…”

“Especially given the fact that he had all that time to get away while we were running down the stairs and out to the garden,” Olivia added.

“I know.” Stephen sighed. “We might as well return to the house. We can search tomorrow in the daylight. Perhaps we’ll find some trace of him.”

They returned to the house to find the rest of the occupants in turmoil. Lady St. Leger, Pamela, Belinda and their guests were all milling about at the foot of the stairs, waiting for them.

“Stephen!” Lady St. Leger pounced on him. “What was it? Did you see him again?”

“I’ve never been so scared in my life!” Belinda exclaimed, grabbing her brother’s arm. Her white face attested to her words, though there was also the irrepressible excitement of a nineteen-year-old shining in her gray eyes. “What was it?”

“I imagine it was someone dressed up in a robe,” Stephen replied flatly. “But he was gone by the time we got there.”

Lady St. Leger was also still in her dressing gown, but Belinda and Pamela were dressed for dinner. Pamela, icily beautiful, as always, in gray silk and lace, cast a disparaging eye over Olivia’s attire. Olivia glanced down at her dressing gown, seeing that she had not managed to keep the hem of it entirely from the dirt; she had also, she realized, stepped on one of the ruffles of her petticoat and pulled it loose, so that it dragged on the ground, dangling and dirty.

“Was there really someone outside in the garden, Stephen?” Pamela asked, her tone faintly derisive. “My chamber is on the wrong side, so I was not able to see this ‘ghost.”’

“He was there!” Belinda snapped, whirling toward Lady Pamela fiercely. “Just because you didn’t see—”

“It’s all right, Belinda.” Stephen laid a calming hand on her shoulder. He looked at Pamela. “Yes, I saw him, too. There was someone cavorting about in the garden, though I am sure it—”

“Cavorting!” Lady St. Leger exclaimed. “How can you be so lighthearted about it? It was a horrible, hideous monk, with the face of a skeleton, and he was walking with such a slow, ponderous tread—a walk like doom. Like death!”

Olivia went quickly over to the older woman and put her arm around her comfortingly. “It’s all right, Lady St. Leger. I’m sure. Please don’t distress yourself. Tomorrow, when it is light, we will make a better search. No doubt it will turn out to be something not very ominous.”

Madame Valenskaya spoke up, saying portentously, “Spirits leaf no traces. Can you not see? It was a lost soul. It cried out to me. To you!” She pointed dramatically at Stephen. “How can you ignore it?”

“Bloody hell!” Stephen burst out. “It was nothing but a man dressed up in a fake monk’s robe! But I am sure you already know—”

“Lord St. Leger,” Olivia stuck in quickly, “your mother is very distressed. Perhaps you should take her up to her room.”

“Yes. Of course.” He shot Olivia a grateful look and took his mother’s arm. “Let us go upstairs. You should lie down and rest. You will feel better.”

“I won’t,” Lady St. Leger protested. “I’m much too frightened to close my eyes, let alone sleep. I have heard people talk about ghosts, but I never actually saw one before. It was ghastly.”

“I’m sure you still have not seen one,” Stephen growled.

“It
was
ghastly,” Olivia agreed. “Whatever it was.”

“When it turned its face up, and I saw that skull—” Belinda shivered “—it nearly frightened me out of my wits.”

“You were right to say that this place was full of lost souls, Madame.” Mr. Babington spoke up, his quiet voice firmer than normal. “Obviously that was one of the poor shades Lady St. Leger’s son spoke about.”

“Yes. Of course. Is true.” Madame Valenskaya spoke slowly, nodding and looking downcast. “I am sorry, my lady. Blackhope is a dark place, full of unhappy souls.”

“Madame, will you sit again tonight?” Lady St. Leger asked, leaving her son’s side and going over to the medium and looking hopefully into her face. “Please? I am sure it would be of great help in this matter.”

The medium inclined her head regally. “Of course, my lady. I must help you. I will call on de spirits tonight.”

Olivia cast a glance at Stephen, who gave her an ironic look in return but said nothing. She felt sure that he realized, as she did, that the only way they could discover Valenskaya’s scheme was to let the woman play out her act tonight.

So, after the evening meal, which had been delayed
almost to the point of ruination by the “ghostly appearance” and the subsequent turmoil, the household gathered once again around the table in the smaller dining room. They sat as they had before, with the medium at one end of the table, her cohorts on either side and Lord St. Leger as far from her as he could be placed. Once again Olivia sat between Lady St. Leger and Stephen, and even though she was prepared tonight for the sensation that ran through her when his hand folded around hers, the power of it was no less intense. She could not help but wonder what he felt when he took her hand and whether it shook him as much as it did her. Olivia thought of the kiss he had given her the day before; she hoped he could not read on her face where her thoughts lay.

The lamps were turned out, and minutes passed silently as they waited for something to happen. At last Madame groaned quietly, and a moment later, the high tinkling sounds of music began to play on the air. It took Olivia a few moments to recognize it as “Fur Elise.”

Apparently Lady St. Leger recognized it, too, for she clutched Olivia’s hand more tightly and gasped, “That song! That was one of Roddy’s favorites. Wasn’t it, Pamela?”

From across the table, Pamela said in a hollow voice, “Yes. Yes, it was.”

Stephen’s grip tightened around Olivia’s hand, and she knew that he was struggling to keep from once again interrupting the séance with a loud oath. She
squeezed his hand in silent communication, and he returned the gesture, letting her know that he was in control of his emotions.

The music stopped as suddenly as it had begun. There was silence, and then Madame Valenskaya spoke, her voice low and hoarse, speaking slowly, almost as if unused to it. “Mama?”

“Roddy?” Lady St. Leger said eagerly, tears clogging her throat. “Roddy, is that you?”

“Yes, Mama, it is I.”

“Oh, darling!” Lady St. Leger stopped on a sob.

“Why are you here?” It was Pamela who spoke up this time, her voice brittle as glass. “What are you seeking?”

“Peace,” the voice replied, then let out a ponderous sigh. “I cannot rest. None of us here can rest.”

“What can we do?” Lady St. Leger cried. “Can we help you?”

“None can rest in this house until the Martyrs rest,” the voice replied in its eerie, measured tones.

“The Martyrs!” Belinda exclaimed.

Olivia had no idea what they were talking about, but she could sense in the tensions around her that at least some of the others did.

“But, Roddy, what do you mean?” Lady St. Leger asked, her voice troubled and confused.

“We cannot be at peace. They cannot be at peace because of the way they were mistreated—put to death, everything stolen.”

“No! Roddy!” Lady St. Leger sounded heartsick. “But we had nothing to do with—”

“No peace…” the voice said on a sigh, fading away.

“Roddy?” Lady St. Leger asked, her voice stark with pain. “Roddy? No, don’t go. Oh, please—come back!”

There was only silence after her words, broken by the sound of Lady St. Leger weeping. At the end of the table, Madame Valenskaya stirred and groaned.

“What—what happen?” she asked groggily, rustling in her chair.

Irina lit one of the lamps on the table and turned it up a little. It cast only a low light, leaving the rest of the room in darkness and illuminating the forms around the table in an eerie play of light and shadow. Olivia glanced at the others. Madame Valenskaya was putting on a great show of waking from a trance. Her daughter and Mr. Babington, on either side of her, looked puzzled. Lady St. Leger was crying softly into her handkerchief, and Stephen looked thunderous. Lady Pamela and Belinda looked surprised.

Madame Valenskaya asked again what had transpired during her trance, and her daughter quietly related to her what “Roddy” had told them.

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Babington spoke up after Irina finished, his voice diffident. “But I didn’t understand—do you know what he meant? Who are the Martyrs?”

“Yes.” Madame Valenskaya nodded her head ponderously. “I wish to know, too.”

“They were the family who used to live here,” Belinda said. “A long, long time ago. King Henry VIII cut off their heads.”

Madame Valenskaya let out a dramatic gasp.

“They died for their faith. That’s why they’re called the Martyrs,” Belinda continued. “I don’t remember their names.”

“Their name was Scorhill,” Stephen said. “They owned Blackhope and had for generations. I don’t know how far back. But during King Henry’s reign, they refused to switch their religion.”

“Like Sir Thomas More,” Olivia said.

“Yes, just less well-known. The Crown confiscated their lands and executed them for treason.”

“A whole family?” Olivia felt sick, thinking of it.

“Father and mother and two grown sons. If anyone was left, I have no idea what happened to them.”

“How awful.”

He nodded. “The land stayed with the Crown, of course. Then, during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, it was given to our ancestor, along with the title—the first Earl St. Leger. He was one of the Queen’s seafaring raiders, and he brought the Queen a good bit of Spanish gold. Blackhope was his reward from her.”

“So we had nothing to do with it,” Lady St. Leger said, her voice still tremulous with tears. She dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “How can they make Roderick suffer? He did nothing wrong.”

Olivia took Lady St. Leger’s hand in sympathy. “I am sure he didn’t, my lady.”

“It’s so cruel,” Lady St. Leger protested.

“Yes.” Olivia glanced at Madame Valenskaya, her expression hardening. “It is cruel. But it will end. I promise.”

“It’s cruel,” Olivia repeated sometime later, pacing the floor of Stephen’s study. They had gone there after the séance had broken up and the others had gone on to their rooms. “It’s heartless. I cannot believe they would use Lady St. Leger so callously. What do they hope to accomplish, anyway, with all this talk of martyrs?”

“Money,” Stephen replied flatly. He, also, was still on his feet, too restless after the evening’s events to sit down. “Perhaps they will offer to exorcise all those restless spirits for a fee. Or maybe they are hoping I will simply pay them off to get them away from my mother. God knows, I might just do it if they put her through many more nights like this. Much as I despise giving in to extortion, I cannot stand by and watch her suffer.”

“We will stop them,” Olivia said flatly. “Let’s consider. First, how did they find out about this family that used to live here? The Martyrs. I would not think that is common knowledge. I have never heard of them, certainly.”