Sea of Secrets: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense (21 page)

“Unless he (or she) wishes us to warn someone else,” pointed out Miss Deveraux. “Is that what you want, spirit?”

Later none of us could agree how it happened. The glass began to shudder under our fingertips, and I remember glancing around the circle of faces, searching for signs that someone was moving the glass deliberately. Somehow, while my eyes were not on it, the goblet must have been lifted off the table, for suddenly it fell with a crash, shivered to pieces.

We dispersed rather hurriedly after that. It was growing late, and that made a convenient excuse for us to escape from the room, without having to admit to each other the cause of our haste. Even phlegmatic Lord Montrose cast a nervous glance over his shoulder as he swept India’s blocks off the table and into their box.

In the hallway the party bade each other brief good nights without lingering. Evidently most of the house had already retired: the singing in the drawing room had dwindled to a duet between two young men, drunk as the lords they probably were, and the rest of my relatives had vanished. Lord Montrose caught up to me at the first floor landing.

“I hope we don’t all dream of haunts after that message,” he said, with a laugh that seemed the slightest bit strained. “Aminta will scold me for having taken part in such fancies. Shall I see you to your room?”

“Thank you, but that isn’t necessary. Good night.”

“Good night.” As he strode away I thought I heard him muttering, “From ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties…”

When I gained the top floor I was relieved to see that there were still signs of human, as opposed to supernatural, activity. Most of the guests had brought valets or maids with them, and the rooms near mine were, many of them, housing these domestics. After that eerie session in the morning room, it was reassuring to see maids whisking down the hall to their rooms and to hear windows being opened and doors shut. Tonight I would not have welcomed my usual solitude.

But it need not be solitude, I remembered, my footsteps quickening. Herron might have gone to my study to wait for me. Penitence seized me as I remembered how peevish I had been that morning, how I had selfishly resented him for casting a pall over my enjoyment of the day. I would not blame him if he was angry with me, but I hoped that, angry or not, he might still be waiting for me.

He was. As soon as I opened the door I saw him, sound asleep in an armchair.

Softly I shut the door behind me and stole up to him. His sleep was peaceful, with none of the restless twitches and mutterings that signaled one of his nightmares. His breathing was deep, and all the tension and anger had eased out of his face, leaving it as serene and vulnerable as a child’s. The sight squeezed my heart, and I leaned over to kiss him very gently. I would not wake him. He had little enough sleep, I suspected, given his nightly walks on the leads.

Then a startling idea flashed into my mind, and I straightened. Since Herron would not be making his rounds tonight, why should I not take his place? Then he need not berate himself later for having missed a night, and, more importantly, I would have a chance to see for myself if his father’s ghost really did walk. If the company in the morning room had felt this to be a promising night for haunts, I should not let the occasion go to waste.

Had it been any other night I honestly believe I would have recognized the folly of this plan. Even had I overcome my doubts about the existence of ghosts, I would have seen how foolish it was to expect one to appear more or less on demand—on the one night I took over Herron’s vigil. But that night my head was still clouded with thoughts of messages from beyond the grave, and there seemed nothing strange about changing out of my dinner gown and donning my boots and black cloak to go seek a ghost.

Pausing only to drape a blanket over Herron, I hastened down the hall to the stairs that led to the roof. Cold air seeped down through the stairwell, and when I reached the landing I pulled the hood of my cloak up before opening the door.

All the same, the chill and the darkness came as a shock. I stood in the lee of the tower to wait for eyes and body to adjust, berating myself for not having brought a light. The roof was almost as exposed as a mountain top, and as completely desolate. The shrill whistle of the wind around the chimneys seemed to mock me, and I was increasingly aware that I did not want to be abroad tonight, at this season of haunts. With longing I thought of my warm room and down-filled coverlet. Perhaps I would only walk once around the roof and go to bed.

I was still nerving myself to step away from the comparative shelter of the tower when something disturbed me. I have never known what it was—a faint sound, or a wisp of motion in the corner of my vision—but for a moment I caught a sense of another presence. I took a step forward in search of the cause, and as I moved a stunning weight glanced my shoulder, sending me staggering.

Gasping, I looked around to find what had struck me. Almost invisible at the base of the tower lay a massive piece of pale stone, roughly square; not a rock, but something cut by a mason. The same stone from which the tower was built. I gazed up at its faint silhouette against the sky, but all was still: if something had dislodged the stone, there was no sign of it.

Ellsmere is an old house, I told myself; mortar disintegrates, and stones come loose from their moorings. But if I had not moved in the very instant it had fallen…

My shoulder was beginning to throb. I darted back to the door, wrenched it open, and plunged down the steps toward my room, and safety. “Fly,” the message had urged. Perhaps the very house itself was repeating the warning.

By next morning my left shoulder had bloomed in a magnificently hideous bruise. My day dresses hid it completely, but when I changed for dinner I had to put on a shawl to cover what the lower neckline revealed.

In the light of day I had found it easy to dismiss my fear that the so-called spirit message had been a true warning. In fact, I had resolved not to mention the episode to anyone. My mishap on the roof was a result of no supernatural force but of simple ill luck, and I hoped it would go unnoticed.

The duchess’s eyes were sharp, though.

“My dear, why are you all bundled up?” she demanded in the drawing room after dinner. “Have you caught a chill?”

“There seems to be a draft in the room,” I lied.

“Well, come sit by the fire then, by all means. There’s no need to wrap yourself up like a Christmas present.” Before I could stop her she had twitched the shawl from my shoulders. She gasped. “Good heavens, child, what has happened to you?”

I started to shrug in dismissal, then winced. “It’s nothing, ma’am. A loose stone from the tower—”

“The tower! Where on earth were you?”

“The roof,” I said unhappily. The other ladies were listening raptly. “Truly, ma’am, it isn’t worth troubling yourself over.”

At this moment the door opened to admit the gentlemen from the smoking room. “Claude!” cried the duchess, sighting him. “Only see what has happened. We shall have to make some immediate repairs to the tower; this could have been a nasty accident.”

“Why, what is it?” He, too, came to scrutinize my shoulder. I was beginning to feel like one of the exhibits at the Crystal Palace. “Good heavens, you must have that seen to. Jenkins, send for the doctor.”

“Thank you, but there is no need,” I said firmly, pulling my shawl up around me; “I am quite well.” In truth, my shoulder was swollen and sore, but I wanted to put an end to the discussion.

“How did it happen?” asked Charles, joining the ever-growing crowd.

I restrained a sigh and repeated my story. The duchess turned to appeal to her husband.

“We must have the tower repaired immediately. When I think of what could have happened, how near we came to disaster—the child could have been struck on the head, Claude! Or it could have been Herron up there on the roof, having stones fall on him. When I think of all the times my son has been at risk of this—!”

Something hunted came into Lord Claude’s face. He had looked haggard all day, probably from last night’s overindulgence, and he recoiled under this barrage. “Now, Gwen, you’re exaggerating. Let’s not borrow trouble.”

“But you
told
me!” she insisted, seizing his arm. “You told me that he walks on the leads every night, and why—”

Herron erupted through the group to face them, and she fell silent. His eyes were blazing, and he clenched and unclenched his hands spasmodically. I felt a hollow dread at what was to come.

“You knew?” he thundered at his mother. “How could you come to know such a thing?”

“Why, Claude told me, dear,” she said, taken aback by his vehemence. “Surely you can’t object to his telling me?”

With a wordless snarl Herron rounded on his uncle. “Yes, it would be you. Have you been creeping around in my footsteps, spying on me?”

Lord Claude licked his lips nervously. “Of course not, Herron. Be sensible. Why would I—”

“No, you’re right. You’d not follow me. You haven’t that much enterprise, have you? Who, then?”

The guests were utterly still, trying to pretend they were elsewhere. Most had averted their eyes, but a few, like Miss Deveraux, were staring in fascination.

“Herron, calm down,” said the duchess. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Why should anyone have followed you?”

“It’s obvious that someone did. Who did you pay, uncle? Who is the flunkey you’ve bribed to report everything I do to you?”

Lord Montrose made a shocked sound. “Come, Herron, this is beneath you.”

“This is none of your affair, Montrose,” said Herron through his teeth, not even glancing in his direction, “so I’ll thank you to keep out of it.”

It was not out of honor that I acted as I did, but from the simple fear that in another moment Herron would do violence to his uncle. He was breathing in quick spasms, poised on the balls of his feet as if about to launch himself at Lord Claude, and before I could change my mind I stood up. “It was I, Herron,” I said.

He whirled toward me. “What?”

“I am the one who told your uncle.”

“You…” he choked. “You
Judas.
”

For a long moment everything seemed to hang suspended as we stared at each other, Herron with damnation in his face, and everyone around us frozen. The shocked white faces of those around us were motionless as if drawn on paper. Charles’s hand had reached out almost imperceptibly as if to hold Herron back.

Then the illusion vanished. In one swift movement Herron flung himself out of the room, and in his wake everything burst into motion: the duchess calling out as she started after him, Lord Claude catching at her and shaking his head, the women putting their heads together and making shocked clucking noises, the younger gentlemen sprinting to the door to see where Herron had gone.

My knees buckled, and I sat down abruptly. Out of nowhere Aminta appeared and silently put an arm about my waist. She was holding a glass of sherry.

“Drink it,” she said simply.

I drank, coughed, drank again. The duchess was flitting around the room in an effort to restore normalcy, and it was a credit to her that she achieved it so quickly. At her bidding Miss Deveraux took a seat at the pianoforte. Sprightly music filled the air, putting an end to the scandalized murmur of conversation; and the guests, choosing tact over gossip, composed themselves to give their attention to the music. No doubt they would all dissect the incident later, but they would not insult their hostess by scrutinizing it further in her presence.

“Are you all right?” asked Felicity, materializing at my elbow.

I nodded. “I am not the one who received the worst blow.”

“If that’s true, it is only in the metaphorical sense,” commented Charles. “That looks like a thoroughly nasty blow your shoulder took. Will you let me examine it?”

“Really, Charles,” Aminta reproved him. “You should know better than to propose that. It’s hardly proper. Besides, can’t you see she’s upset? This is hardly the time to treat her as a laboratory specimen.”

“I am doing no such thing. Has it not occurred to you that our cousin may be in some pain from her injury?”

I rose, interrupting the exchange. “Excuse me,” I said. “I must speak to Herron.”

They stared. “Don’t you think you should give him some time…?” Charles began.

“I’m sorry, but I must go. I must find Herron.”

“Oh, bother Herron,” I thought I heard Felicity say, but I was halfway across the room by then and paid no heed.

He was not in the library or the morning room, where the seekers after supernatural knowledge were once again assembled. I ran upstairs and checked his rooms. Empty. Dismayed, I hovered on the landing, wondering where to look next.

Far down the hall, an open door caught my eye; no light came from the chamber beyond, but the door stood ajar as if I was expected. I hurried down the corridor and looked inside the room.

He had not even lit the gas, and the only light was the pale frosty moonlight that came through the uncurtained windows. He sat on the floor with his back against a window, so that the diffuse light formed a hazy aureole around his head; his face was in darkness, as it had been the first time I saw him. I stepped over the threshold. This must have been a music room at one time, for a shrouded harp hunched in the corner, but now it had been stripped bare in preparation for new furnishings. The light from the windows fell in gleaming bands across bare floorboards that echoed to my footsteps.

He was slumped against the window with his head bowed, and when I moved toward him he only looked up for a moment before letting his chin drop back to his chest. I had expected rage, shouting, accusation; this silent apathy filled me with dismay and tenderness.

“Herron,” I said softly. “I want to talk to you.”

His shoulders moved in a shrug. “It seems futile to try to stop you from talking,” he said tonelessly, and I flinched at the jibe.

“I can understand why you would feel that way. But if you’ll let me explain—”

“What explanation can there be? You had a choice before you, and you made it. You chose to side with him against me. And all the time you led me to believe you were on my side.”