Moonlight And Mistletoe

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘You… you bastard.’ Hester struggled to free herself.

‘Language, my dear Miss Lattimer.’ Guy was not letting her go and her efforts to free her wrist only succeeded in tightening his grip. ‘Please let go of that sword before you run me through or I will have to hurt you.’

‘I mean to run you through,’ she gasped, attempting to kick him, but finding that in bare feet all she was doing was stubbing her toes, despite the fact that he appeared not to be wearing boots. ‘I wanted to trust you and now I know I was right not to-but how you could-’

He let go of her suddenly, then used both hands to twist the sword in her grip. With a gasp Hester let it go and heard it land with a soft thud on the chaise as he tossed it away.

‘I’m sorry, but one of us was going to get hurt.’ She found herself gathered tightly against Guy’s chest. ‘Now please, stop struggling and be quiet. Do you want to wake the household?’

‘Yes!’ She stamped hard on his stockinged foot. ‘Brute! You treacherous, lying, deceitful brute. Jethro will be down with a shotgun in a moment-’

‘No, he will not. He was snoring his head off when I climbed through his window; in fact, everyone was snoring, except you, and you were making enchanting whiffling noises. Look, if I let you go, will you stop kicking me and come and sit on the chaise?’

‘No, I will not! Whiffling? I do not whiffle.’ She broke off and stared up at what she could see of his face in the faint light. ‘Why were you climbing through Jethro’s window? You couldn’t know he had taken a sleeping draught.’

‘Parrott and he thought it was best if I came in that way, because of course we wanted Susan to lock and bolt everything downstairs as usual.’ He relaxed his hold. ‘Be still, just for one moment, and tell me if this looks like the actions of a man who is set on haunting your house with dead roses.’ Guy stepped away from her and there was a sudden narrow beam of light that fell on the chaise. Blinking, Hester realised he had partly opened the slide on a dark lantern.

On the chaise was a pillow. On the floor beside it his discarded boots and a long-barrelled pistol contrasted incongruously with a bottle and a napkin open to reveal what appeared to be a ham sandwich.

The dark lantern clicked shut. ‘Now, come and sit down. We do not appear to have woken Susan or Miss Prudhome, but I suggest we keep our voices down. I have no wish to be taken to task by your chaperon for having a tryst with you in your nightgown.’

‘It would more likely be Susan brandishing the kitchen poker.’ Hester felt confused and relieved in equal parts but she let herself be steered to the chaise. Guy put the sword on the floor and sat down beside her. ‘I am sorry I kicked you-but what are you doing here?’

‘Setting a trap for your night-time visitor, although I imagine if he is within fifty yards of the place he will have fled by now.’ She could see no more of him than his outline against the faint light from the window, but the sense of being protected was so strong that it was an effort not to throw her arms around his neck and cling to him. She had been wrong about Guy and suddenly the knowledge that he was innocent was all that mattered.

‘And Jethro knows?’

‘I was worried about you all, so I sent Parrott over. He was coming anyway to talk to the lad. They spent a cosy afternoon plotting and Jethro promised to leave his window open for me.’

‘But how did you get up to it? We have no ladder long enough.’ The image of Guy making his way stealthily across the road encumbered by a ladder almost provoked a giggle and she stifled it hastily. Hysteria seemed rather too close for comfort.

‘On to the water butt, along the penthouse roof over the scullery, up a somewhat poorly attached rainwater pipe and in through the window.’

‘Your clothes must be filthy.’

‘My valet sent me out in my second-best housebreaking outfit,’ he assured her in a solemn whisper.

This time the giggle did escape. ‘Oh, Guy, I am so glad it is not you,’ Hester managed to gasp between faint hiccups of mirth.

‘Are you? Why?’

‘I felt in my heart… I mean, I felt instinctively that you would not do such a thing, but my head told me to be sensible and mistrustful.’ At least he could not see her blushing in the darkness-why had she mentioned her heart? ‘I felt you were my friend-those few moments when I was convinced I was wrong were horrible.’

‘Well, I am your friend, although I give you fair warning that I still intend trying to persuade you to sell to me. Why did you cut me dead this morning?’

Hester sniffed. ‘I did not want another prosy lecture on what I ought to do.’

‘Prosy?’ Guy sounded indignant. He reached out in the dim light and tweaked a lock of Hester’s straying hair. ‘I was merely being careful on your account. As I should be now- go to bed, Hester.’

‘Do you think I would get a wink of sleep?’ she demanded. ‘I am staying here.’ To emphasise the point she curled up against the pillow at the head of the chaise and tucked her feet under her. Nothing was going to dislodge her now. Reverting to his previous remark, she added, ‘And I did not cut you, I waved my whip.’

‘Ah, yes, to make sure I noticed that you were with my rival for your affections.’

Hester gave an inelegant snort. ‘What nonsense! Sir Lewis was merely escorting me to visit with his sister, and in any case, surely I am allowed more than one friend?’

‘He is very good looking-or so the other ladies seem to think,’ Guy remarked pensively.

‘He is indeed. Very good looking,’ Hester teased, determined not to pander to Guy’s vanity by pointing out that he, too, was an attractive man. ‘It is odd,’ she added, suddenly serious, ‘but whenever I see him I am reminded of someone, but I cannot think who.’

‘Are you? Now that is interesting. I wonder if anyone else has noticed the likeness?’

‘To whom? Guy, you are being deliberately provoking and mysterious. I must tell you that now I have another prospective purchaser for the Moon House I can safely cut your acquaintance unless you stop teasing.’ It was so unreal in the moonlight and shadows that it felt safe to talk this nonsense, scandalously alone with a man.

‘Who has offered to buy it?’ He was all at once serious.

‘Why, Sir Lewis. Miss Nugent was telling me the most ridiculous stories from some old family collection of legends and he said that, if I was suffering from haunting at the Moon House, he would feel honour bound to buy it back.’

That made sense. Guy stared into the darkness that was the hall. Miss Nugent does her best to scare Hester with ghost stories and her brother makes an offer for the house. But why would the father sell the house and the children want it back-especially if they were the ones behind the hauntings? What could they possibly want so badly? It was obvious that Hester knew nothing of their motives. He knew things about their connection with the house that she had no idea of, and he was not about to enlighten her.

It was disturbing, yet curiously restful, to be sitting in the darkness next to Hester. She was curled up like a cat against the head of the chaise, so close he could feel the warmth of her. He moved his hand and it brushed her bare foot.

‘Your feet are freezing; here, put my coat over them.’ He reached behind the seat and found his coat by touch, tucking it around her legs and over her feet.

‘Thank you. I should have thought to put on my slippers, but I was so sleepy and thirsty that I didn’t think of it.’ She was smiling, he could hear it in her voice, despite the fact they were whispering. Now, if there was ever a moment, was the time to intensify his flirtation with her. Moonlight, intimacy-if he could not win her over to doing what he wanted by the end of the night, then he was losing his touch with women.

As he thought it Guy felt a stab of distaste. He did not want to flirt: or to persuade Hester into anything she did not want to do. He wanted… what? She wanted to be friends, she already considered him one, hence her furious sense of betrayal when she found him here. Was friendship enough?

Hester shifted slightly, but was quiet. She had a quality of repose which was attractive. It seemed she felt no need to chatter or to display her fears in order to attract attention. Guy smiled, recalling Hester’s courage and quick wits as she drew the sword on him. No, he wanted more than friendship-it seemed he wanted to court her.

Taken by surprise at his own thoughts, Guy shifted away to the other end of the chaise. Hester murmured, ‘Thank you,’ obviously thinking he had moved to give her more room.

Am I in love with her? He took a startled look at the question and made himself consider it, never having suspected himself of such an emotion before. She is delightful to look at, but then so were all the high-fliers and bits of muslin he had enjoyed an association with from time to time. She is quick-witted, unusual, direct, never qualities he had looked for in a woman before. And she is brave, to say nothing of stubborn, proud and secretive. How did that add up to love? If love was this feeling that was a mixture of desire, tenderness, protectiveness and sheer terror and he wasn’t simply suffering from brain fever.

After all, Guy reasoned with himself, you came here on an errand that could only be described as quixotic and romantic, perhaps you are just in the mood to fancy yourself in love.

‘Can you smell roses?’ he whispered. ‘I’ve only just noticed it-but surely there cannot be any in bloom now, or smelling at this time of night, come to that.’

‘You can smell them too?’ she asked eagerly. ‘I thought it was only me. I smell them when I am happy, or when I am thinking about the house. I sometimes think that scent is the only ghost the Moon House holds. There are a few sodden blooms in the garden, but of course-’

‘Quiet,’ he murmured, putting his fingers over her mouth. Was he imagining it? No, there was the sound of movement from the hall, the merest brush of unshod feet on the marble, the almost imperceptible stirring of the air. ‘Stay here.’ He used one hand to press her down on to the chaise, with the other he reached for the sword. The thought of bullets flying in the darkness with Hester there chilled him.

Almost holding his breath, he drifted towards the door. The intruder was closer now, at the foot of the stairs. Guy lunged out of the door and a figure whirled around, cloak swirling as it did so. Guy took in only that it was fast, clad all in black and that it had no face, then his mind caught up with his imagination and he realised it was masked.

‘Stand! I am armed.’

The figure seemed to waver in the faint light, then something swept towards his face. Instinctively Guy threw up his left arm to protect his eyes and stabbed forward with the sword as pain lanced through his face. For a moment he thought the intruder had thrown a cat and it was clawing at him, then his hand closed around hard, thorny stems and crisp, dead leaves and he realised it was roses.

He swept them aside and drove towards his attacker again, lunging forward in a fencer’s attack. His foot came down, not on flat marble but something hard and rounded, slipped as the scabbard moved on the polished stone, and, completely off- balance, he began to fall. As he went down he dropped the sword and hit out with his right fist, to feel it connect with a satisfying thud on the masked face.

Then he was on the floor, scrambling to regain balance to spring to his feet as someone tripped over him with a cry of dismay. His reaching hands found themselves full of fine cotton and the warm female form beneath. ‘Hester!’ Unceremoniously he rolled her off on to the floor behind him and got to his feet. The hall was empty, the house silent. Where the hell had it gone?

The stillness lasted only seconds, then there was an outburst of cries and opening doors from upstairs and light from two candles illuminated the staircase.

‘Hester! What’s happening? Oh, you brute!’ Miss Prudhome, uncaring of curl papers, flannel nightgown and bare feet, flew down the stairs to Hester’s side where she rounded on Guy, one trembling hand holding a chamber stick, the other clenched to wave under his nose. ‘Hurry, Susan, bring the poker-the beast has tried to ravish her-see how she has scratched him!’

The maid was hard on her heels, poker in raised hand, her candle waving wildly.

‘Quiet!’ It was Hester, managing a voice of absolute authority despite being in the middle of scrambling to her feet with her hair in a tangle, her feet bare and her nightgown hitched up to her knees. A wave of pride in her washed over him, warring with a stab of lust. ‘Be quiet, everyone-we found the ghost and now it’s gone and we have to search.’

Guy took the opportunity to remove the poker from Susan’s grip and scoop up the scabbard from the floor before it tripped anyone else up. ‘Stay behind me, please-and, as Miss Lattimer says-be quiet!’ He took Miss Prudhome’s candle and glanced into the dining room. Empty. That left the kitchen, although by now a troop of cavalry could have unbolted the door and made their escape.

But not only was the kitchen empty, but the bolts were shut, the door still firmly locked, the windows closed and latched. The only sign of the intruder was the trail down the hall of dead roses and the drops of Guy’s blood that marked the way it had fled towards the kitchen.

Guy, with Susan dogged at his heels, searched the dining room again, looked in every nook and cranny of the kitchen and scullery, even opened the door of the longcase clock and peered inside, but he found nothing. But then he had not expected to-whoever was getting into the Moon House, they were not coming in through the door.

Hester left them to search, instead filling a kettle from the scullery pump and banging it down on the range. ‘Fetch the poker from his lordship, would you, please, Maria? I don’t know about you, but I need a cup of tea.’

By the time the searchers returned, predictably empty handed, the tea was brewing and Maria was buttering bread. ‘Bread and butter is very soothing in a crisis, I always find.’

Guy made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort of amusement, but Hester was too concerned with the state of him to join in the joke. Now they had lit all the kitchen candles his face, covered in scratches and streaked with blood, looked horrifying.

‘Guy, your face! Come and sit down and let me sponge it.’ Hester tipped hot water from the kettle into a bowl, seized a petticoat that had been drying by the fire, ripped a handful of cloth from it and advanced on him. ‘Now, sit down here and let me see. Did anything go in your eyes?’ She bent over him, tipping his chin up in one determined hand in much the same way as she would have with Jethro.

‘No, ma’am,’ he said with unaccustomed meekness.

‘Are you sure? Are you hurt anywhere else? Your breathing sounds very heavy.’ She tipped his face up some more, and carefully inspected the scratches, their noses almost touching. Now there was no mistaking the wicked twinkle in his eyes.

‘I am labouring under a great deal of stress, Miss Lattimer.’

Hester dropped the cloth back in the bowl and handed him a dry piece with a reproving look. Her own heart rate had accelerated to an uncomfortable degree.

‘Have a cup of tea, my lord,’ Maria urged, mercifully missing the by-play. ‘I am sure that will make you feel better. Then I will fetch the basilicum powder.’

‘Thank you, Miss Prudhome.’ He gave the chaperon a look of such docility that Hester could have boxed his ears.

‘There are only ten tonight,’ Susan said, dumping an armful of roses on the kitchen table. ‘Fourteen the first night, twelve the next…’

‘It started with the new moon.’ Hester made her voice steady with a struggle. ‘It happens every second night, and each time there are two fewer. By the time of the full moon there will be none. And at the full moon-’ She broke off, unable to repeat the nonsense Miss Nugent had spouted.

‘At the full moon, what?’ Susan was wide eyed.

‘Nothing, just some nonsense Miss Nugent says she found in an old manuscript.’

‘Tell us,’ Guy commanded. He glanced round at the other women. ‘I suspect that Sir Lewis and Miss Nugent may be hoping to alarm Miss Lattimer into reselling the house to them. I would like to hear what taradiddles they have concocted.’

‘You think they are breaking into the house?’ Hester found it incredible as soon as she said it. ‘Respectable members of local society?’

‘I am respectable, and you had no trouble believing me the culprit,’ Guy pointed out with a grin. ‘Now, what is supposed to happen at the full moon?’

‘The evil in the house will wax with the moon, and then when it is full… Oh, this is such fustian, it isn’t worth repeating!’

‘Go on, Miss Hester,’ Susan urged. ‘You can’t not tell us now, imagining is much worse.’

‘Very well, if you must have it. When the moon is full, Death walks.’

There was silence as the four of them absorbed this. Then into the stillness they heard the dragging footsteps coming down the hall. Four pairs of eyes turned to the door, which slowly began to creak open.

Guy got to his feet, gesturing with his hand for silence. With a muffled squeak Miss Prudhome clutched Susan and Hester found herself standing, her hand on Guy’s arm.

The door opened to reveal a white-clad figure and, with a sigh, Miss Prudhome slid to the floor in a dead faint.