Shades of the Past (12 page)

Adrian looked to where Cissy and Majel were in the course of seating themselves on adjacent couches, and to where Lawrence, Henry, and Nigel clustered before the great leaded window, debating some point on grouse shooting. 

Holding no wish to join that particular exchange, Adrian lingered in place a moment and skimmed his gaze over the furnishings, woodwork, and ornamentation that graced the room.  It seemed an age since last he stood here.  Still, the drawing room—dominated by restful blues and greens and golden oak paneling—remained one of his favorite retreats at Sherringham. 

Adrian's eyes drew to the fireplace.  There, above the mantelpiece, Leonine Marrable looked out from an ornate frame, her dark eyes flashing as she watched over all who entered her domain.

Adrian slowly crossed to the fireplace, his gaze still fixed on the portrait of his distant, and rather scandalous, relative. 

Leonine smiled through layers of paints and oils as she lounged unblushingly in flowing robes of damask and silk.  Her loosely parted garments revealed a creamy expanse of neck and shoulder and the swell of one perfect breast. 

Leonine's left arm rested on a red silken pillow, a small spaniel filling her lap.  The symbolism was not lost to Adrian—the animal, representing fidelity, conspicuously placed over the cloaked prize awaiting her lover.  Her long, black ringlets of hair spilled bewitchingly to her waist, and her open gaze offered invitation.

Adrian perused the costly rings gleaming upon Leonine's fingers, and the jewels sparkling at her ears.  Upon her wrist she wore a bracelet of braided gold.  A locket, faced with a porcelain miniature, dangled from its precious threads, the likeness it bore being that of King Charles II.

Adrian knew the monarch had commissioned the portrait of his much beloved mistress, meant for his royal eyes alone.  But upon Leonine's untimely death, the king presented it to the family, being unable to bear to look upon her image, his grief so great.

The jewels Leonine wore in the painting, Adrian had held in his own hands, for they formed part of the Marrable treasure.  Gazing on Leonine, he almost felt he should apologize that they should now be lost.

Adrian slipped his hand into his coat pocket and felt the square of paper folded there—a copy of his wire to Cameron Kincaid, dispatched from Hereford earlier today, refining his latest theories about Olivia and the disappearance of the jewels.

Disappointingly, he'd found nothing of importance in his search of Olivia's room and subsequently ordered it cleared of all its contents.  Her wedding ring remained missing, its fate as much a mystery as that of the Marrable jewels.

He’d also spoken at length with Lawrence, painstakingly reviewing the night of the accident and his brother's testimony to Hereford's constable.  Again, Adrian discovered nothing new, or previously overlooked, concerning the events surrounding his wife's presumed death.

For his own peace of mind and satisfaction, he'd gone so far as to reenact his brother's account, to see if there was any detail Lawrence might have missed.  Late last night, he'd sent Timmons out in the carriage with the lanterns lit.  He then watched from the west tower as Timmons traveled as far as Devil’s Hairpin.  But all he saw in the dark distance was the carriage light moving farther and farther away.  Adrian shuttered his thoughts to the horror his brother witnessed the night the carriage burst into flames.

Returning his attention to Leonine's portrait, he allowed his mind to wander, as did his eyes over the painting's details.  His gaze traced Leonine's smiling lips then trailed lower, over her pale flesh.  As his eyes alighted on her tender breast, he heard Cissy greet Vanessa across the room.

 Adrian turned and was instantly struck anew by how ravishing Vanessa appeared tonight in her gown of garnet-red silk.  Creamy lace spilled from its low, rounded neckline and her upswept hair bared an elegant column of neck. 

Throughout dinner he'd wondered if a name could be given to the true color of her tresses—a color which appeared a pale golden honey across the room, but he knew to be composed of many differing shades. 

Vanessa's large aqua eyes were wondrously changeable, he'd discovered, sometimes more blue than green and, at others, the converse.  Tonight, in the drawing room, their hues were perfectly balanced.  As he drank in the sight of her, in her garnet gown that perfectly complimented the room, it struck him she seemed fashioned expressly to belong here, in this setting, that of his ancestral home.

Adrian shut his eyes tight and clamped down on his rising desire and treasonous strain of thought.  Involvement with a woman would only lead to heartache, he told himself.  Besides, Lawrence and Vanessa had apparently formed an attachment already.

When Adrian opened his eyes again, he saw Lawrence crossing the room toward Vanessa.  He could not fault his brother for the admiration shining in his eyes.  Obviously, some bond of affection lay between the two.

Adrian started to turn away, then paused as Vanessa moved to the sofa and took a place beside Cissy.  Did he imagine it, or had she purposely evaded Lawrence just now? 

As Adrian gazed on her, he wondered if Vanessa's feelings toward his brother matched Lawrence's enthusiasm for her, or even came near.  What was their relationship after all?

»«

Lord Marrable stood before the fireplace, staring up at the painting of a beautiful, dark-haired woman.  Vanessa recognized instantly that the woman depicted there possessed the same sable hair and midnight eyes as he.

As the Viscount turned, she looked aside, aware of his gaze drawing to her.  Her grip tensed on the photographs she held in her hand.  Was she always to become so discomposed in his presence?

Vanessa became suddenly aware of Lawrence, midway across the room and heading toward her, a fire banked in his eyes.  She dreaded what attentions he might attempt to press upon her.  Glancing to Cissy, she met with her inviting smile, and decided to join her.  Vanessa moved with as much haste as possible without being obvious, intent on surrounding herself with others.  Given the circumstance, it was the best she could think to do. 

As Vanessa lowered herself onto the sofa, Cissy spied the photographs in her hand.

"May I?" she asked, reaching for the prints.

Vanessa readily gave them over, at the same time mindful of Lawrence circling the sofa grouping and drawing behind herself and Cissy.

Not wishing to be wholly ill-mannered, Vanessa acknowledged his presence with a brief, cordial smile.  He returned her smile with a warm one of his own, then allowed his gaze to drop to her shoulders and lower still, settling on the neckline of her gown.

Vanessa's temper flared as she realized what he was about.  Self-consciously, she lifted a hand to her chest, barring any visual excursions he might attempt.

"Oh, my.  Geoffrey was right," Cissy muttered beside her, lifting the topmost photograph and studying it closely.  "There appears to be a figure glowing in the tower window."

"The devil you say."  Disbelief colored Lawrence's voice as he leaned forward and relieved his sister of the picture.

Cissy's husband, Henry, left Lord Pendergast at the window and started toward them.  "Darling, you can't be serious.  You aren't going to start that ghost nonsense again, are you?

"Henry, it's no nonsense at all!"  Cissy thrust to her feet.  Snatching the photograph from Lawrence's fingers, she shoved it toward him.  "You did not grow up at Sherringham as did we four.  There have always been strange happenings here.  It's something we've all come to accept."

Vanessa's heart did a small somersault as the image of the Marrable banner, stirring to life in Knights Chapel, sprang to mind. 

"Just an oddity."
  Lawrence had shrugged at the time. 
"Sherringham has an abundance of those."

She was mindful, too, of the icy airs that constantly plagued her.

Nigel Pendergast moved to Henry’s side and eyed the photograph in his hands.  "That is rather curious, is it not?"

"Am I to see it, or do you intend to keep the picture entirely to yourselves?" Majel complained, rising to her feet and stretching forth her hand, her interest plainly piqued. 

Receiving the print from
her brother-in-law, she took up her lorgnette and peered through the lens.  Her brows lifted high as she inspected the image. 

"'Curious' is hardly the word."  She lowered the lorgnette as she looked to the others.  "You do realize, whatever this is—if anything at all—it is occupying the Tudor gallery?"

"Majel is right."  Cissy's voice carried a note of awe.  She turned wide eyes to Vanessa.  "The Tudor gallery is one of the oldest and most haunted parts of Sherringham."

Vanessa raised her own brows at that, incredulous at the bent of the conversation.  Lord Marrable, she noted, listened attentively from the fireplace but, thus far, offered no comment.

"I do hope you're jesting."  Vanessa forced a smile to her lips.  Cissy's and Majel's faces, even Lawrence's, told her they were not.  "I mean, this is no 'spirit photograph,' if that is what you imagine.  What you see in the picture is simply an aberration of light, that is all."

Cissy picked up the other prints from where they rested on the sofa and sifted through them.  "These contain no 'aberrations.'  When did you photograph these?"

"This morning."  Vanessa could guess the direction of her thoughts.

"Using the same camera as you did yesterday?"

"Yes.  The equipment seems sound enough."  Vanessa bit her lip.  "I really have no explanation for how the negative became corrupted.  But I am also reluctant to owe it to some resident phantom of Sherringham."

Majel's gray-green eyes swept to her brother across the room.  "Adrian, you are exceptionally quiet."  She started toward him with the blemished photograph in hand.  "Here, you must see for yourself and tell us what you think of it."

Vanessa allowed her gaze to follow Majel then drift to Lord Marrable.  Their eyes touched for the briefest of moments.

"Do you not believe in ghosts?" Cissy asked, pulling her attention back.

"I—I am not sure actually.  I've never given it a great deal of thought." 

That wasn't quite true, Vanessa mentally corrected.  Lady Gwen had held distinct beliefs on the topic which they would discuss from time to time.  Then too, whenever they traveled north to Edinburgh, they would gather with a particular group of Lady Gwen's philosophical friends.  Evening's end would find them invariably steeped in discussions on life-beyond-death and the spirit dimension. 

Lady Gwen firmly believed that the spirits of the departed remained on the material plane, coexisting with the living and capable of communicating if they strongly desired.  A surprising number of her friends concurred, though usually only to a degree.  They would argue that souls that lingered on the earthly plane were trapped.  They further conjectured that tragic circumstance, or wrongs not righted, prevented them from proceeding to a "higher place of Light."  Others felt all spirits who had progressed retained the power to return to warn loved ones and friends of impending dangers—or, leastwise, the Almighty permitted them to do so.

"Do you wish to know what I think?" Cissy asked, glancing to her brothers and sister but not waiting for their response.  "Our return for Auntie's funeral has aroused the ghosts of Sherringham.  For whatever reasons, it has stirred the shades out from the shadows."

"Surely not all of them,” Lawrence tossed back, a light appearing in his eyes, his lips curving.  "Only one figure is visible in the photograph, after all.  Or were there others I overlooked?"

"I am serious, Lawrence," Cissy scolded.  "Of anyone, you and Adrian should not dismiss the possibilities."  She transferred her attention to Vanessa.  "I should tell you, both my brothers have actually seen the ghosts of Sherringham, and a great many of them at that."

Cissy's words stole Vanessa's breath.  She did not miss the quick exchange of glances between Lawrence and the viscount.  

Lawrence cleared his throat.  "Actually, we witnessed only one incident, or thought we did—a phantom army battling on the northwest grounds."

Cissy's eyes flashed with impatience.  "But Adrian encountered another ghost from a different century—a Cavalier looking for his head."  She furrowed her brows.  "Or was it the monk who roams the Upper Cloisters?"

 "Upper Cloisters?"  Vanessa’s heart skipped a beat as she thought of the numerous times she’d  traveled its corridors, to and from her bedchamber.  She decided not to ask where the Cavalier made his search.

Vanessa shifted her glance between Cissy and Adrian Marrable.  "Just how many specters frequent Sherringham?  Do you really consider them to be authentic?"

The viscount came away from the fireplace, leaving Majel's side, and returned the photograph to Vanessa’s possession.  The corners of his mouth drew into a pensive smile.

"As with most castles and manor houses of great age, Sherringham owns a wealth of legends and colorful tales, passed down through the centuries.  Each person must decide for himself and herself what to believe."

Lord Marrable's rich voice leant a dramatic air to his words, sending shivers spiraling through Vanessa.  She glanced to the misted image in the photograph.  Again, she was struck by how eerily the figure—if it could be deemed that— stood, with a filmy hand lifted to the window and, seemingly, contemplated those gathered on the terrace below.