Excuse me for interrupting what appears to be a most delicious breakfast, sir, but I’m afraid we’ve had another incident.”
Bram Haverstein lowered the coffee cup that had almost made it to his lips, releasing just a smidgen of a sigh when he caught sight of Stanley hovering in the doorway of the breakfast room. He would have loved to have been able to say that he rarely saw Stanley while he was attempting to eat a meal, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case these days. Ever since the ladies of Tarrytown had begun descending on his castle in droves—although why they’d taken to doing so, no one seemed to know—he’d spent many a meal with Stanley, listening to that man bring him up to date on all types of peculiar incidents that were transpiring in and around Ravenwood.
“What’s happened now?”
“More unusual antics of the concerning type, sir, but this time I’m not sure what the purpose of the interlopers truly was.” Stanley stepped farther into the room and looked longingly at the silver pot resting on the sideboard.
“Perhaps you should pour yourself a cup of coffee and join me so you’ll be more comfortable as you give me all the pertinent details of this latest fiasco.”
“Don’t mind if I do—thank you very much.” Stanley moved to the sideboard, helping himself to a cup of coffee, along with a pastry and a plate filled with toast. He was soon sitting at the table, happily slurping his drink as he filled Bram in on the latest shenanigans.
“As calm as you please, they drove right up to the drive leading to Ravenwood, and didn’t so much as stutter when they requested entrance.” Stanley took another gulp of his coffee.
“But there were no young ladies present in the carriage?” Bram asked.
Stanley set down his cup. “See, that’s the problem, sir. I’m afraid I might have startled their horse before Ernie and I were able to scout out the interior of their carriage. There very well could have been a young lady stashed in there. If that was, indeed, the case, well . . . it would explain the reason that elderly woman made the claim she was your grandmother.”
Bram frowned. “While I’m not certain I understand the logic behind that statement, tell me this. . . . Should I inquire as to how you happened to startle the horse?”
“It would probably be in your best interest to avoid asking questions like that, sir.”
Stifling a grin, Bram considered the man sitting across from him, a man who’d not been qualified in the least for a job at Ravenwood working on the grounds—or pressed into service inside the castle when the situation warranted it.
When he’d first run across Stanley, the man had been selling items of a questionable nature in the midst of the Lower East Side, an occupation that many a man down on his luck had resorted to in that dismal part of the city. Bram hadn’t paid Stanley much mind, even though he had given the man a few coins out of his pocket, but Stanley had proven himself to be much more than a mere seller of questionable goods when Bram had been attacked by some unsavory characters looking for a bit of sport.
The two men had been together ever since, and once word had gotten out that Bram was more than willing to hire people from the tenements, others from the Lower East Side had joined their odd household.
Each of these members of Bram’s staff possessed unique talents, but they were not talents of a domestic nature. Nevertheless, given Bram’s unusual profession, he’d found some of these unique talents remarkably handy at times—especially since one never knew when skills such as pickpocketing or having far too much experience running confidence schemes would come in handy.
“If you’ll forgive my impertinence, sir, the rest of the staff and I have decided that something must be done about all these unusual happenings here at Ravenwood, and . . . we’ve come up with a few solutions.” Stanley stuck his hand in his jacket pocket, pulling out a handful of crumpled bits of paper that he took to smoothing out against the table.
“What do you have there?” Bram forced himself to ask.
Stanley didn’t look up from his task. “Our solutions to restore order at the castle.” He pulled one of the strips closer and bent his head over it. “This one suggests that you leave Ravenwood and buy a nice house on Park Avenue.”
“That would only transfer the lady problem I’m experiencing at the moment because . . . Do you have any idea of how many unmarried ladies live in and around Park Avenue?”
Stanley crumpled up that particular strip of paper, tossed it over his shoulder, and moved on to another one. “Ah, here’s a good one. Find a lovely young lady and get married, and . . . there are three suggestions—Miss Winters, Miss . . . I can’t read the writing, and . . . hmmm . . . Tilda, the new scullery maid.”
Stanley didn’t even bother to ask Bram’s opinion about that, but tossed the strip straight over his shoulder as he pulled another strip toward him. “Ah, another mention of marriage for you—this one recommending a lady by the name of Miss Buttermore.” Stanley nodded. “I’m beginning to notice a trend, one that has you seeking out a wife, although . . .” He looked at the slip of paper again. “I do think Miss Buttermore might be the niece of Mrs. Buttermore, your cook, so . . .” That piece of paper went over his shoulder as well.
“I don’t really see the need to continue with this, Stanley, given the somewhat problematic nature of the suggestions you’ve read so far, although do tell everyone on staff that I appreciate their concern.”
Stanley heaved a sigh. “Begging your pardon, sir, but finding a wife might be exactly what you need. Why, even though I’ve never married, I understand that wives can be a great source of affection and companionship, and if you were to settle your affections on a single lady—such as . . .” He pulled another strip to him, tossed it aside, pulled another, read it, and smiled. “. . . a Miss Cooper, who, it is noted, is quite pretty—why, I have to imagine Ravenwood would no longer be inundated with ladies on a daily basis.” He smiled. “A wife would also put an end to the rumors swirling around the countryside that you’re the mysterious rider galloping around on a black steed at all hours of the night because you’re up to something . . . interesting.”
“I’m not getting rid of Storm, even if I do eventually settle down and get married. Although . . . calling him a galloping steed is somewhat amusing, especially since he almost never travels faster than a plod.”
Stanley abandoned the strips of paper to pick up his coffee cup. “I don’t recall mentioning a need to get rid of your horse. If you’ll recall, I suggested you acquire a wife.”
“And you believe that will put an end to the rumors as well as put an end to all the shenanigans currently happening at Ravenwood?”
“If you’re married, people will assume you prefer to spend the nights curled next to your ladylove, not gallivanting around the Hudson Valley. And, unmarried ladies, along with their matchmaking mothers, will no longer have a reason to descend on Ravenwood in droves if you settle your affections on a particular woman.”
Bram took a sip of now tepid coffee and caught Stanley’s eye. “Would it surprise you to learn that I’ve already settled my affections on a specific lady?”
Stanley blinked. “I have yet to witness you paying any of the ladies who’ve visited Ravenwood any special attention.”
“That’s because this lady has never been to Ravenwood. Truth be told, I’ve not actually been formally introduced to her.”
Stanley abandoned his toast. “That seems a bit curious, sir.”
“Indeed, but you see, the reason I have yet to be properly introduced to her is because she’s a delicate sort, possessed of fragile and tender sensibilities.”
Stanley’s brows drew together. “You believe a lady with tender sensibilities is an appropriate choice for you to settle your affections on, sir?”
“She’s perfect for me—lovely, charming, demure. Why, I can’t think of another lady I’d want to settle my affections on. But even given her delicate nature, she’s a lady in very high demand. Gentlemen flock around her, but because of her tender sensibilities, she seems reluctant to enter into a relationship with any of them, in fact, more often than not, she’s given them the cut direct.”
Bram blotted his lips with a linen napkin. “That right there is why I’ve been biding my time, waiting for just the right moment to become introduced to her. I don’t want to scare her off and lose any chance I might have of securing her interest.”
“I think you’re forgetting a very important fact, sir. You’re Mr. Bram Haverstein, a gentleman in possession of a very fine fortune, your own castle, a summer house on Long Island, more carriages than I care to count, a steamboat, and you’re apparently possessed of a face that all the ladies find swoon-worthy. On top of that, I’ve heard more than one young lady whispering about that fine dark hair you have on your head.” Stanley grinned. “Apparently, it’s a huge mark in your favor.”
Bram rolled his eyes. “I don’t believe I’ve ever caused a lady to swoon before, and honestly, my hair is a very nondescript shade of brown. I hardly think it’s unusual enough to have the ladies whispering about it.”
“You’re missing the point. You’re a catch, Mr. Haverstein, and that means this lady of yours, be she in high demand or not, will be more than receptive to accepting your attention.”
“I’ve never gotten the impression this particular lady is impressed by things such as fortunes and handsome faces, let alone nondescript brown hair.”
“Every lady is appreciative of a handsome face, sir, and throw in a fortune and a castle to go with that face, and you can’t lose.” Stanley’s brow furrowed. “Although, you might not want to tell her straight off that Ravenwood is haunted. That might not be a mark in your favor, unless she enjoys ghosts and creatures of the night, but if she’s truly a delicate sort . . . hmm . . . best keep that under wraps until she’s fully committed to you.”
“Ravenwood is not haunted, Stanley.”
Stanley immediately turned stubborn. “Explain all the peculiar events that happen then—like suits of armor moving about, moans in the night, and . . . what about when poor Mrs. Buttermore heard those chains clanking around when she got up early to start the Thanksgiving feast last year?”
“We’ve never heard any stories about any of the previous owners coming to a bad end. And there haven’t been that many previous owners since Ravenwood isn’t even that old, so there’s no reason for it to be haunted.”
“Perhaps the ghosts came over on the boats that brought all the antiquities the last owner acquired and left behind when he sold the castle to you, which is very . . . telling.”
“I paid a fortune for those antiquities because I thought they lent the castle a very credible atmosphere.”
“Oh . . . I thought the previous owner simply left them when he fled out of fear for his life.”
“You’ve been reading far too many gothic novels,” Bram said with a shake of his head, but before he could say more, Ernie suddenly dashed into the room, completely out of breath, and looking a little wild about the eyes.
“The castle grounds have been breached, sir,” Ernie finally managed to wheeze as he bent over and sucked in deep breaths of air. “Should we roll out the cannons?”
“I think that might be a bit of an overreaction, especially since I’ve never really been comfortable blasting unexpected guests hither, thither, and yon about the castle lawn.”
“I didn’t say we should blast them, sir, just fire off a ball or two over their heads in order to scare them a bit,” Ernie argued. “And begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t believe we should be calling them guests. They’re trespassers, plain and simple, and they’re not your everyday trespassers either, sir. They went to the very great bother of getting through the back hedge. Those hedges are filled with thorns, not to mention snakes, and it would take someone of a very determined nature to brave obstacles like that.”
Bram blinked. “They went through the hedge?”
“Indeed, and they’ve now made their way past the reflecting pond,” another voice said from the doorway.
Looking that way, Bram found Mrs. Macmillan, his less-than-capable housekeeper, slouching in the doorway, looking rather put out at the moment, although, since that was a look she projected quite often, he wasn’t taken aback by it in the least.
Why he kept her and her husband, Mr. Macmillan, the butler at Ravenwood, was a discussion he knew the rest of his staff often had. But when he’d purchased Ravenwood, the Macmillans had inquired whether or not they could retain the positions they’d held for the previous owners. And, since Bram was not comfortable turning people out into a world where positions were difficult to come by, he’d agreed to allow them to stay on—though he had regretted that decision a time or two, especially since neither Mr. Macmillan nor Mrs. Macmillan seemed to be especially competent at their jobs.
“Thank you, Mrs. Macmillan,” he finally said with a nod, earning a single nod of acknowledgment from her in return. But then she surprised him when she stepped forward instead of getting on her way.
“Mr. Macmillan is already on his way up to the north tower to ready the cannon, per Ernie’s suggestion,” Mrs. Macmillan continued. “But I thought I should inquire first before I have someone pull up the drawbridges—something Ernie suggested as well—especially since that’s such a difficult task, what with all the pulleys and cranks that need to be put into motion.”
Sending Ernie a frown, which Ernie staunchly ignored, Bram gave his breakfast one last look before he rose from his chair. “Thank you, but no, Mrs. Macmillan. We’ll leave the drawbridges down since I intend to speak directly to the intruders.” He turned and caught Stanley’s eye. “Would you be so kind as to seek out Mr. Macmillan and inform him that the decision has been made to stand down and not make use of the cannons today?”
“Of course,” Stanley said before he strode from the room, taking a muttering Ernie with him.
“Should I ring for fresh tea?” Mrs. Macmillan asked.
“I’m not sure I’ll be asking the trespassers in for refreshments, Mrs. Macmillan. While I certainly don’t want to fire cannonballs at them, offering them tea might be taking the social niceties a bit too far.” With that, Bram walked past his housekeeper and down a long hallway lined with ancient suits of armor.
Pushing open the heavy door that led to the back gardens, Bram squinted against the late-morning sun and scanned the surrounding area, his gaze settling on two figures who had, indeed, made it past the reflecting pond and were even now approaching the moat.
Since both intruders seemed to be on the small side, and neither was carrying any weapons that he could see, he felt no trepidation in the least about approaching them. His approach came to a grinding halt, though, when howling suddenly rent the air. Turning toward the sound, he saw a side gate swing open. Though a gate opening didn’t usually constitute a dire emergency, because this particular gate kept his pack of mangy-looking and less-than-well-behaved dogs contained, the situation at hand had taken a definite turn for the concerning. Before he could call out to discover exactly who had opened the gate, four dogs came charging across the lawn. His yells telling them to stop did nothing to slow them down, and the next thing Bram knew, the dogs were scrambling across the drawbridge, their goal obviously that of getting to the gentleman now standing stock-still about halfway across that bridge.
From what Bram could tell, the man seemed to be saying something to the dogs, but whatever he was saying, instead of calming the beasts, sent them into what could only be called a frenzy. The poor man was now well and truly trapped since the dogs had taken to circling him—something Bram had been teaching them to do, but with the hope that they’d use the training to herd sheep, not people. Breaking into a run as Igor, the largest of his dogs, suddenly crouched, Bram yelled, “Igor, no.”
Unfortunately, Igor was a little hard of hearing at times—unless there was mention of chicken, his favorite food—and before Bram could reach him, he leapt at the intruder, who stumbled backward and then over the small ledge that marked the side of the drawing bridge, disappearing into the moat a second later with a very loud splash.
Increasing his pace as water flew up from the moat, Bram skidded to a stop at the edge of the drawbridge, searching the water in the hopes that the man would resurface at any moment. When he didn’t, and when all of the dogs suddenly abandoned their howling to jump into the moat as well, Bram had no choice but to follow them, dodging paddling paws before he dove underneath the surface.
Just when his lungs began to burn and he thought he wasn’t going to be successful on his first dive, the man shot into him. Unable to believe his good fortune, he grabbed hold of what felt like hair, and surprisingly long hair at that, and kicked as hard as he could, pulling the man up with him. Breaking the surface, he gulped in a breath, released his hold on the hair, and taking a firm grip on the man’s arm, tried to tow him to shore.
Unfortunately, the man didn’t seem to be receptive to that idea and immediately began fighting him, which had Bram tightening his grip.
“Stop . . . trying . . . to drown me,” he heard the man rasp in an unexpectedly high voice between bobs of his head lifting and sinking through the water.
“I’m trying to save you.”
“Is that what you call this?”
Intending to reassure the obviously distressed and certainly panicked man, Bram opened his mouth, but soon found himself incapable of speech, a direct result of suddenly finding himself underneath the water. Taken completely by surprise by the idea the man had dunked him, he dodged the man’s kicking legs, as well as a few dog paws, and sputtered his way back to the surface, discovering as he did so that the man he’d thought was drowning was swimming his way quite competently to shore.
Striking out after him with his dogs paddling on either side of him, Bram soon reached the side of the moat. Clawing his way up the dirt bank, he flopped onto the grass and turned his head, his attention settling on the man he’d been trying to save. That man was already on his feet, but the longer Bram watched the man, the more it became clear he was no man at all. He, or rather she, had lost her greatcoat in the moat, and her wet clothing was currently plastered against a form that was . . . curvaceous. When she shoved a hunk of long hair away from her face, exposing whiskers, of all things, Bram suddenly found it very difficult to breath because . . .
Standing only feet away from him was none other than Miss Lucetta Plum, one of the most intriguing ladies to ever grace the stage, and a lady who had captured his very great esteem.
She was looking a little worse for wear, especially since she had mud on her face mixed in with the whiskers, and she also had clumps of algae in her hair, but even in such a sorry state, she was beautiful.
She was also the lady he’d been slightly in love with ever since he’d first seen her take to the stage a few years back. Her delicate and refined nature had pulled at his very soul, and the very idea that such a fragile creature was forced to eke out a living on her own had been unfathomable. That was what had prompted Bram to set into motion ways to improve Miss Plum’s circumstance in life, those ways including . . .
A wet tongue licking his face had him immediately returning to the situation at hand as he rolled from his stomach to his back, an action he regretted a mere second later when Igor began licking his face in earnest.
“Thank you, Igor, but that’ll be quite enough of that.” He was not surprised when his dog gave him a few more licks before he finally abandoned his task, ambling a mere foot away before he began shaking out his fur, the shaking sending water flying Bram’s way.
Pushing to his feet in an effort to avoid some of the water, Bram gave his wet and distinctly smelly dog a pat before he straightened, his breath becoming lodged in his throat when Miss Plum began walking toward him.
Regret settled in as the thought struck him that there was really no way to avoid finally making her acquaintance even while smelling much like his dog. Summoning up a smile, he was about to offer her a greeting when a trace of smoke coming from one of the castle towers captured his attention. Knowing full well there was only one reasonable explanation for the smoke, he stepped toward Miss Plum just as a yell split the air.
As the roar of a cannon sounded, Bram did the only thing that sprang to mind. He yanked Miss Plum close to him, locked his arms around her slender body, and . . . jumped back into the moat.