Mesmerized (26 page)

“Here?” Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “Under the same roof? Well, you do like to live dangerously.”

“I could scarcely toss her out. She is my brother’s widow, after all.”

“Interesting situation.”

Stephen chuckled. “That’s the least of it. Things have happened that are so bizarre I have wondered if I am going mad. Fortunately, Olivia witnessed them, too.”

Stephen told his friend and former partner about the medium and her séances, including the one in which Mr. Babington had fallen into a seizure, and also recounted the ghostly apparition he and Olivia had seen, and their dreams involving the same woman.

Olivia and her great-uncle appeared in the midst of this discussion, and Great-uncle Bellard listened with great interest to what had taken place in Blackhope since Olivia had sent her letter to him. Small, bright eyed and balding, with a burst of white hair ringing his head just above his ears, he reminded Olivia of a bird.

He nodded several times and murmured, “Intriguing, most intriguing,” during the course of Stephen’s description. When Stephen fell silent, the older man reached down beside his chair, where he had set two
large books that he had carried into the room and picked up one of them. He put it in his lap and tapped it.

“This is a history of the western counties, written by a rather thorough fellow. Eighteenth-century chap.” He sighed a little wistfully. “Too bad. I would have liked to have spoken to him. He raised some very interesting points about the—well, never mind. That’s neither here nor there. Thing is, he’s a trustworthy historian. In here, I found a passage about the Scorhill family and Blackhope.”

He opened the book to where a bookmark held his place. “During the time of Stephen of Blois—if you will remember, he was the king before Henry II, and his was a chaotic reign. He did not have good control over his lords. There had been years of fighting already between him and Mathilde, Henry’s mother. Well, it was all very unsettled, especially in the west, with the threat of the Welsh. Many of the barons seized the opportunity to conduct their own private wars amongst themselves—the strong preying on the weak, increasing lands and power, settling old scores and the like. Anyway, it said in here that during this time, the Norman keep of Blackhope was besieged by an enemy of the Scorhill of the time, one Sir Raymond.”

Olivia sucked in a sharp breath. Uncle Bellard smiled at her.

“Yes, my dear. I think it must be the same one as your Sir Raymond. The castle was attacked, but Sir
Raymond was not at home at the time. He had gone to another noble, his liege lord, actually, hoping to enlist his support in Sir Raymond’s ongoing feud with Lord Surton, whose men were even at that moment laying siege to Blackhope. Surton’s men took the castle. There were rumors at the time that there was treachery involved, that someone let them into the castle. Whatever happened, they took the castle and a good deal of it was destroyed, by battering rams and by fire. And Sir Raymond’s wife—it does not say what her name was—was killed in the siege.”

Olivia felt tears prick at her eyelids. She told herself it was foolish, that she did not even know the woman, but she could not help but feel pity and sorrow at her death. “Alys,” she said. “Her name was Lady Alys.”

“Was it?” Great-uncle Bellard asked and patted his niece’s hand. “Well, Sir Raymond upon his return managed to take back the castle, and with the aid of his allies, decisively defeated Lord Surton. So that is how the castle was destroyed. It was, however, rebuilt by Sir Raymond on almost the same spot.”

“Now,” he went on, caught up in his story, “this is where it really gets interesting.” He set the tome back down on the floor and picked up the other book. “This is the history of the Scorhills written by one of the St. Legers. It was written during the reign of Charles I, before the Civil War.”

At Rafe’s confused look, Bellard added kindly, “I mean ours, of course, not yours.”

“Oh. Sure.” Rafe grinned. “I’m with you now. The Cavaliers, right? The fellows with the big hats and plumes?”

“Heathen,” Stephen joked in what was obviously a long-running line of verbal sparring.

“Of course, as I said, this Cecil St. Leger had a vested interest in the Scorhill family appearing as black and unworthy as possible. In that regard, he is rather harsh regarding the Lord Scorhill, who incurred Henry VIII’s displeasure, primarily because of his ‘treason’ and ‘popery.’ However, he also has several juicy tidbits regarding Sir Raymond.”

“Really?” Stephen leaned forward, intrigued. “What?”

“He accuses the man of having dabbled in the black arts,” Great-uncle Bellard said, and sat back, looking pleased at the astonishment on the faces of his listeners.

“What?” Olivia gaped. “You mean witchcraft?”

“He said the man was a witch?” Rafe asked. “I mean, whatever a male witch is.”

“Warlock,” the historian supplied and nodded. “That is exactly what I mean. He said that Sir Raymond was reputed to be a powerful sorcerer, a wicked and cruel man. Of course, it all sounds like rumors and gossip. There is no way to know the truth of any of it. He does lay out several instances of the man’s deceit and wickedness, many of them concerning his dealing with the aforementioned Lord Surton. But chief among them is the claim that it was he who
really arranged the ‘betrayal’ of his own castle. The author puts forth that Sir Raymond not only knew they would attack the castle, but that he actually lured Surton into it, that he paid someone to open the gates to the man’s forces, and that he then returned with a much larger force and defeated the invaders, killing his enemy in the process and getting rid of a wife who had not provided him with any heirs.”

“How awful!” Olivia exclaimed. “What a wicked man!”

Her uncle nodded. “He certainly was, if these reports have any truth to them. According to this book, he was reputed to be in league with the devil. Supposedly he summoned his dark master and cavorted with him, holding orgies and such and communing with witches. He was feared by all around him, it says, and his death was met with much rejoicing. He was generally held to be cursed by God, as he married twice more and still never produced an heir. The other two wives were also said to have died mysteriously. Since he had no heirs, Blackhope went to a distant cousin, who, this book admits, did his best to restore the house to a proper godly state.”

Great-uncle Bellard closed the book and sat back in his chair, watching them expectantly. Olivia did not know what to say. She glanced at Stephen, who seemed to have the same problem. It was Rafe who finally spoke up.

“Well, I have to say, I’d be glad, if I were you, St. Leger, that this fellow wasn’t an ancestor.”

“I am. The problem is, we know more about him, perhaps, but we still don’t know what’s going on.”

“It looks pretty clear to me,” Rafe replied. “This Sir Raymond fellow was one mean son of—excuse me, ma’am—one mean person, and he sold out his own men and gave his castle up to his enemy in order to trap the man and get rid of his wife and her lover. I’m thinking he had more reason to hate his wife than just her not bearing an heir. And since his wife and this knight were killed like that, their spirits remain here, haunting the place. That’s who you’ve been seeing, right? There’s your reason. Violent deaths—that’s always what sets the ghosts walking in the Tidewater.”

“The Tidewater?” Olivia asked, confused.

“In Virginia, ma’am. That’s where I come from. The houses may not be as old as those around here, but there are plenty of spirits flitting around them—lonely wives who pace the riverbank, watching for the boat carrying their husband that never came in, people wrongly hanged who still slip in and out among the oak trees where they met their end, girls in white who glide down the staircase at the stroke of midnight…that sort of thing.”

“But those are stories,” Olivia protested.

“Yes, ma’am, and good ones, too,” Rafe replied, giving her a lazy grin.

“Rafe always used to keep everyone entertained with his tales,” Stephen explained. “But we are talking about reality here, Rafe.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Olivia stated flatly.

“I don’t guess it really matters whether you believe in them or not. The problem is, you’ve seen them,” Rafe said.

“He has a point, my dear,” Great-uncle Bellard put in quietly. “You know, Livvy, one needs to keep an open mind, even about such things. You have seen the evidence with your own eyes. I have not, but I know that you are not a hysterical girl, nor one inclined to jump to conclusions. When you tell me the kind of things you have witnessed, I have to consider the possibility that they are real.”

“I don’t want to consider it,” Olivia replied honestly. “It’s too—”

“Horrifying?” Stephen suggested.

“Yes,” Olivia agreed. “I have spent the last few years proving that all the spirits I’ve witnessed were fakes.”

“But this does not make your previous work wrong,” Bellard pointed out. “Those were still frauds, just as your Madame Valenskaya is a fraud. But your lady and her knight—I think they are an entirely different matter.”

“Then you believe Sir Raymond was a warlock? That he summoned the devil and all that?”

Her great-uncle shrugged. “Well, as to that, I’m not sure. As I said, the source is suspect. It may have been nothing but rumors. Still, I imagine there probably were people who engaged in the black arts, calling up the devil and all.” His dark eyes twinkled
merrily as he added, “That is not to say that the devil came when they called, of course.”

“It seems as though people in the past were terribly quick to label anyone who was different a witch,” Olivia argued. “Whenever they didn’t understand something, they decided it was sorcery.” She paused, remembering the feeling of evil that had hit her like a wall as she stepped into the secret room.

Stephen, as if knowing what she was thinking, said, “Remember when you touched the casket, how you saw Sir Raymond and sensed such a great evil that it made you faint?”

Olivia nodded. “Yes. And in the secret room, as well.” She looked up at the others with a perplexed expression. “But that is scarcely objective proof of anything.”

“Sometimes you have to rely on your instincts,” Rafe said. “You don’t have to think to breathe. You don’t stand there and debate it if a big ol’ bear comes out of the woods at you. You just light out of there. Sometimes you know something without thinking.”

“What I wonder,” Great-uncle Bellard said, “is whether anyone has ever seen these people before? Are these people the ghosts of legend here?”

“No. Not that I’ve heard,” Stephen replied. “I didn’t even know who they were until we started looking into the history of the place. The most famous occupants were the family that was beheaded by Henry VIII. One would think that, if there were any ghosts here, it would be theirs.”

“Certainly that is what Madame Valenskaya has focused on,” Olivia added.

“Then Lady Alys and the knight have appeared only at the present, and solely to the two of you,” Bellard mused. “That is intriguing, as well.”

“Why? What does it mean?” Olivia asked.

“I don’t know. This is certainly not my field,” her great-uncle said. “But it would seem obvious that there must be some connection.”

“
If
we admit that there are ghosts,” Olivia put in.

“No,” Stephen said thoughtfully. “I don’t think we have to say that. Whatever these dreams and visions are, they have definitely occurred. I think we can safely agree on that.”

“Yes.”

“And you and I have been the only ones who have been recipients of them. Ergo, whatever they are—ghosts, tricks, some bizarre phenomena that we have never even heard of—they are still connected to the two of us.”

“That is true.”

“It could be because Olivia is in this house. Perhaps that is the vital confluence,” Bellard said. “Or it could be the combination of Olivia and Lord St. Leger. Or perhaps it is the mixing of all three—Olivia, St. Leger and Blackhope.”

“But why?” Olivia asked. “I mean, obviously the place would have something to do with it. And St. Leger is the lord of the estate, even if it was not his
ancestor who was involved in this story. But what would
I
have to do with it?”

“It must involve you,” Stephen argued. “If it was only the combination of the house and me, it could have happened anytime these past six months. Indeed, it could have happened years ago, when I was growing up here.”

“We are not the only people who have converged at this place,” Olivia pointed out. “Madame Valenskaya and her group are here, as well.”

“But I thought, from what Stephen told me, you had concluded that what the medium did was all quackery,” Rafe said.

“Oh, they are definitely after money or the Martyrs’ treasure, and most everything they have done has been a fraud,” Stephen agreed. “But there is the matter of Mr. Babington’s peculiar behavior at the last séance. We cannot deny that something sent him into a very real state of unconsciousness. And Madame Valenskaya and her group have been here in the house during the time of the visions and dreams. I think we must consider the possibility that they had something to do with them.”

“It is rather a lot to ask of coincidence that this medium is here at the same time you are experiencing your ‘ghostly’ visions,” Olivia’s great-uncle agreed.