Chapter Four

MRS. PENLOE HURRIED down the stairs and into the kitchen, carefully shutting the kitchen door behind her. The damp outer-garments that the ladies had given her were still clutched against her chest, but she gave no thought to them. Her eyes were fixed on the man who sat at the large oak table in the center of the room. “Oh, Master Harry,” she said in despair, “I be afeared we’re in trouble!”

The man looked up at her and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Oh?” he asked curiously. “Who was it at the door?”

“Two ladies!” Mrs. Penloe announced in a voice of doom. “Two ladies of the family!”

“Damnation!” the man muttered angrily. He was lean and tall and, even while sitting at the kitchen table in his shirtsleeves, had the look of a gentleman. His face was strikingly handsome, with dark, aristocratically arched brows and a strong, aquiline nose; his thick black hair was dramatically emphasized by a lock of white which grew from the center of his hairline and fell in disarray over his right eye; and his hands, while large and strong, were made surprisingly graceful by their long fingers. One hand was now supporting his chin and the other drumming impatiently on the table-top. “Family, you say?” he asked, looking up at Mrs. Penloe with a frown. “Who are they? Did you get their names?”

Before Mrs. Penloe could answer, the door opened and Will came in. Like his wife, he carefully closed the door behind him. He gave the man at the table a troubled look and, sucking at the stem of his still-unlit pipe, he asked, “Has she told ’ee?”

The man at the table nodded glumly.

“Well, you couldn’t expect ’em to go out again on such a night,” Will said, crossing the room to the box where the firewood was stored.

“What are we to do?” asked Mrs. Penloe, shaking out the pelisses she’d carried in and hanging them on the backs of two chairs. “Are we to let ’em stay?”

“No!” the man at the table said adamantly.

Will stopped stacking the small load of firewood he was gathering and stared at the man in surprise. “There ain’t nothing else for it,” he said. “Might as well face it. They’re fixed here, for the night at least.”

“Mr. Penloe!” his wife declared angrily. “Mind what you say to his lordship, if you please! There’ll be no disrespect to him in this kitchen—or anywhere else in this house!”

Will Penloe stared at his wife in chagrin. Then, reddening, he glanced embarrassedly at the man at the table. He often forgot that this man, Captain Henry Thorne, was now the sixth Earl of Thombury and the new Lord of Thorndene. Sitting here in the kitchen in his shirtsleeves, he was just like one of his family. In fact, at this time of his life, Captain Henry belonged more to the Penloe family than to the Thornes. Will Penloe very much doubted that the Thornes would even recognize him at this moment, if any of them should chance to wander in. It was not only in the recently acquired streak of white hair that Captain Henry had changed. He was much thinner than he’d been when he left for Spain, and his boyish look was gone. But the greatest change—the change that had brought him here to live in modest anonymity among the Penloes—was one that would not have been noticed except by the most discerning: the crutch that rested against the table was the only sign that the Captain’s left leg had been replaced by one of wood.

Will Penloe had known Captain Thorne since he was a boy, and the intimacy of their present way of life made him feel very close to his lordship. Mrs. Penloe’s reproof had cut him to the quick. After three months of intimate association with the young Earl, he often forgot to address him with proper formality. But he never crossed beyond the bounds of deepest respect, and he would rather have had his tongue cut out than to say anything offensive to the man he held in such high regard. “Disrespect?” he asked defensively. “Is it you who talks o’ disrespect? ’Tain’t me what calls him ‘Master Harry’ like he was still twelve years old.”

“Cain’t help it,” Mrs. Penloe said shamefacedly. “I’m that used to’t, I cain’t seem to stop. You don’t mind, do ’ee, Mas—your lordship?”

Lord Thorne looked up at the housekeeper, who was watching him with troubled affection. “I much prefer ‘Master Harry’ to ‘your lordship,’ I assure you,” he said with an abstracted smile. “Now stop worrying about showing me disrespect (which neither of you has ever done, even when I was a boy), and let’s set our minds to finding a way to rid ourselves of our unwanted guests.”

“There ain’t no way, my lord,” Will muttered glumly. “Not unless you face ’em and order ’em out.” He sucked on his pipestem meditatively. “After all, Cap’n Henry, it is your house.”

“No,” Mrs. Penloe said sharply, “he cain’t do that. ’Twould give the whole game away. We must think o’ somethin’ else.”

The three fell silent. Mrs. Penloe studied the face of her adored “Master Harry” with heartfelt concern. She’d known Henry Thorne since he had first visited Cornwall, the summer after his father had died. The lonely, orphaned boy had touched her heart, and she had set about filling him with all the nourishing food and honest affection that he could absorb. She had taken an almost proprietary pride in his growth to praiseworthy manhood. She’d looked forward eagerly to his annual visits to Thorndene, had read, reread and treasured his occasional letters, and had looked at him in his first uniform with that mixture of pride and fear that a mother feels. Even the birth of her own son had not lessened the strong maternal affection she felt for him.

Her fears for his safety when he’d gone off to the Peninsula had turned out to be justified; the handsome, confident, happy Henry Thorne who’d gone to war was not the same man who’d come back. He’d returned with a face lined with pain, with eyes from which all the laughter had been washed away, with a streak of white hair cutting through the dark mass like a knife … and with his left leg cut off just below the knee.

Mrs. Penloe sighed deeply and set about preparing a tea tray for the new arrivals, though she did it with ill will. The ladies were obviously cold, fatigued and hungry, but she had no sympathy for them. They were causing trouble for her dear Harry, and therefore she had no room in her heart to care for their concerns. It was Harry for whom she cared—her dear, kind, good Captain Harry, who had come back from the war so altered in body and spirit.

It still pained her to look at him, even though the three months he’d spent here at Thorndene had brought some color back to his face and filled out the gaunt hollows of his cheeks. Although he was still the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on, the lines about his mouth, the weariness of his eyes, the awkwardness of his movements when he walked with the crutch under his arm, the tinge of bitterness in his attitude toward his future—all caused her heart to constrict. He wanted only one thing of life now: to live in solitary, undisturbed peace in this out-of-the-way place. She and Will had begged him, when they’d felt that he was restored to good health, to return to London and take his rightful place as his grandfather’s successor, but he would hear none of it. As soon as he’d learned that the old Earl had died, his interest in the life of London had waned. London was the last place to which he wished to go. He wanted nothing to do with his family or friends. There was no one he cared to see. He wanted no attention, no pity. Let them think him dead, he declared. Let them give the titles to his Uncle Charles. He no longer cared about titles and estates. They were part of the past, like the leg he’d lost.

Convinced that a life of peaceful solitude was the only thing that would make Lord Thorne happy, Mr. and Mrs. Penloe and their son, Jemmy, joined forces to keep the knowledge of Henry Thorne’s existence from the rest of the world. His name was never mentioned to outsiders. Their orders of food and necessaries, which they purchased in Padstow, were carefully planned to conceal the fact that anyone but the Penloes resided at Thorndene. Captain Henry ate the same food they did, and he took his meals with them in the kitchen or alone in the study he’d set up in the rear of the west wing. There he would not be discovered by any chance visitors. Much of the house was closed off and unused; no one could guess that a few of the rooms in the west wing had been made into a comfortably habitable apartment.

The only time Lord Thorne left the house was to ride his horse—a form of exercise he loved, but which he indulged in only in the very early mornings when the road was free of travelers. In the three months since his arrival his presence had remained undetected.

The unheralded arrival of the two ladies of the Thorne family was a severe blow to their sense of security. Mrs. Penloe, who by this time had developed so fierce a sense of protectiveness toward her “Master Harry” that she was not unlike a mother bear with a wounded cub, would gladly have locked the two intruders in the coal cellar or, better still, pushed them out of the house into the rain. But since such action would be only a temporary solution to the problem (for the ladies would be certain to return with the proper authorities, who would hold investigations and put their magisterial noses where they were not in the least wanted) she refrained from taking such drastic action. But what action she could take, she did not know.

Will Penloe took his pipe from between his teeth and spoke. “You may as well make up rooms for ’em, m’dear. They’ll have to stay the night. Per’aps, Cap’n, you’ll think o’ somethin’ by mornin’.”

Lord Thorne nodded. Leaning on the table for support, he pushed himself up from his chair. “Will’s right, I suppose. You may as well make them comfortable for the night,” he told Mrs. Penloe with a sigh. He reached for his crutch and swung himself to the door. “I’ll keep to my room until we find a way to send them packing. Put them in the east-wing bedrooms.”

Mrs. Penloe hurried to open the door for him (a service which made him wince with irritation every time she performed it, for he was quite able to do it for himself), but the door opened before she reached it and Jemmy entered, his face lit with a self-satisfied grin. “Well, I scared the coachman off good and proper,” he announced proudly. “The coach took off down the road so hasty-like, you’d ’ave thought the devil was after it.”

“Did you indeed?” Lord Thorne asked admiringly. “How did you manage to accomplish that?”

“’Tweren’t a bit hard, m’lord,” the boy said proudly. “I just tol’ him we had a presence.”

“A presence?”

“Yes, sir. You know what I mean … a ghost.”

Lord Thorne looked at Jemmy with interest. “Are you saying you told the coachman the house is haunted?”

“That’s just what I tol’ him. Turned a proper green, he did!” Jemmy bragged.

Will Penloe gave an amused snort. “You mean the fool heard ‘ghost’ and took to his heels?”

“Like a shot,” Jemmy said proudly.

“That’s most interesting,” Lord Thorne mused. “The very thought that the house may be haunted sent him scurrying off in the rain …” He leaned comfortably on his crutch and smiled at the boy admiringly. “Jemmy, I think that was very clever of you. Very clever.”

“Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, Cap’n?” Will asked eagerly.

Henry nodded. “I certainly am. Perhaps the same ghost will scare away our other intruders. “What do you think, my dear?” he asked Mrs. Penloe.

She shook her head doubtfully. “Those two be too stubborn-like and shrewd to take to their heels just because we tell ’em a ghost story.”

Henry Thorne grinned. “But we’ll give them more than a story, love. We’ll give them a … a … what was it you said, Jemmy? A presence!”

Mrs. Penloe, picking up the tea tray to deliver to the visitors, paused and looked at him suspiciously. “I don’t mind what you mean. Be ’ee plannin’ some devilment, Master Harry?”

“Yes, I am, love,” Lord Thorne said, his smile widening. “Real devilment. If they won’t be frightened off by the story of a ghost, we’ll give them a ghost in the flesh … if a ghost can be said to be ‘in the flesh’ at all.”

Mrs. Penloe stared at him closely, peering through the tiny spectacles perched on her nose. She noticed that a spark of amusement had ignited in his eyes. For a moment she was reminded of a younger Master Harry, full of spirit and mischief. Could it be that he was enjoying this dilemma? If he could turn this disastrous occurence into a lark, there was real hope that the Harry of old was yet alive in him. She put down the tray. Her feeling of depression slid away, and although she did not smile, her eyes held an unmistakable gleam as she placed her hands on her hips and scowled at him in mock disapproval. “An’ how do ’ee propose to bring in a ghost, I ask ’ee?”

“Never you mind, my dear. I have a plan. But I’ve decided that the ladies should not be given rooms in the east wing after all. Put them in the front bedrooms of the west wing, if you please.”

Mrs. Penloe frowned in earnest. “The west wing? Are ’ee daft?”

“Not a bit. The large corner bedroom has a secret passage that will just suit my purpose.”

“Aha!” Will Penloe nodded approvingly. “I begin to follow ’ee now.”

Lord Thorne winked at him and started out the door. But Mrs. Penloe was not comfortable with the shift in plans. “But I don’t follow ’ee at all!” she complained. “I don’t like ’em bein’ so close to ’ee. ’Tis a dangerous game you’re playin’.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Lord Thorne said, reaching over and chucking her affectionately under the chin, “there’s nothing dangerous about it. I’ll simply provide a few sights and sounds that the good ladies are not expecting, and by tomorrow morning they’ll be begging Will to drive them into Padstow.”

“But … which one do you want put in the corner room?” she asked, not very reassured.

“Either one. It won’t make a particle of difference. When I send the lady you put in the corner bedroom flying out, screaming in fear, you can be sure that the other will follow.” And with an almost hearty laugh, he left the room.

It was well past midnight by the time the bedrooms had been prepared for the newcomers and almost one before Lady Amelia had found a warm nightgown in her voluminous trunk and had prepared herself for bed. She had fallen into a deep sleep when a strange clanking disturbed her. At first she thought she was dreaming and endeavored to ignore the sound, but the noise was quite real and very close. At last she realized that it was not a dream and opened her eyes. The clanking seemed to come from somewhere near the window—a casement which was set, dormer-like, into an alcove cut in the two-foot-thick wall. A heavy drapery curtained the window, and the arched opening of the alcove was dressed with a pair of sheer white curtains.

Her heart beat rapidly, for the sound was both unexpected and horrifying. It seemed to combine the rattle of chains and an unidentifiable clumping noise. But before she could shake off her paralysis of fear, something more horrifying occurred: a shimmering light seemed to materialize behind the curtain. At first it was faint, but it quickly brightened until …

Amelia gasped in terror. She could make it out distinctly. It was a candle … a candle floating in the air all by itself! It swayed back and forth behind the curtain, and with each sway it seemed to come closer. With eyes bulging in fright, a racing pulse and a scream which stuck in her throat, she threw back the covers, bounded out of bed with the speed of a much younger woman and flew to the door.

She slammed the door behind her and, in her bare feet, crossed the hall to Nell’s room. Without bothering to knock, she burst in. “Nell, Nell!” she cried into the darkness. “Get up! Quickly!”

Nell woke with pulse-racing suddenness. “Amelia?” she asked tensely. “Is that you?”

“Yes, yes!” the old woman said breathlessly. “Where are you? I can’t see anything in this darkness. Light a candle, quickly!”

Nell did as she was bid. With the first spark of the match, Amelia found her way to the bed. Tremblingly, she threw her arms around the bemused Nell. “Oh, Nell, I saw it! I saw it! The ghost!”

Nell stared at her in astonishment. “What are you talking about? Please, dearest, try to calm yourself. I can’t understand a word of what you’re saying.”

“I tell you, it’s true, Nell! There is a ghost—just as the coachman said!”

Nell, now fully awake, smiled at Amelia as if she were a child. “Goosecap!” she said affectionately. “You were only dreaming.”

“No, no, Nell, I swear! I thought I was dreaming when I first heard it … You didn’t hear anything, did you? A sort of clanking and thumping?”

“No, of course I didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t think so. You couldn’t have been sleeping so soundly if you had. It was a dreadful noise, I can tell you! Dreadful! It came from the window alcove. I know I didn’t dream it because I heard it for several seconds after I had sat up!”

“Well, I suppose there could have been some noise,” Nell said reasonably. “A bird trapped in the eaves, or the wind howling through some crack in the wall …”

“No, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever heard before.”

“But Amelia,” Nell comforted, taking the old woman’s hands in hers, “there could be any number of explanations for strange sounds in the night. It’s ridiculous to blame them on a ghost.”

Amelia shook her head. “But I saw it … or at least its candle!”

“What? You saw something?” Nell asked in disbelief.

“Yes, truly! A burning candle, floating in the air!” She lowered her voice to a tense whisper. “Held aloft by an unseen hand!”

Nell could not help herself—she laughed. “Oh, Amelia, what nonsense! You sound like a character in a book by Mrs. Radcliffe.”

Amelia sighed. “Very well, laugh at me. But I shan’t remain here another day. And I shan’t permit you to stay, either. We are both going home. Tomorrow!”

“You’re quite upset, dearest. Let’s not talk about this now. Tomorrow the sun may shine. You’ll feel quite differently then. In the meantime, let’s try to get a little sleep. Here, take the candle with you, and keep it lit beside your bed. That should frighten any ghost away.”

Amelia drew herself erect. “Are you suggesting,” she demanded angrily, “that I return … to … that room?”

“Don’t you wish to—?”

“Wish to! I’ll never set foot in there again!”

“Very well, then, I’ll go,” Nell said firmly, climbing out of bed. “You sleep here.”

“No!” Amelia screamed, grasping her arm. “You can’t go in there!”

“I’ll take the candle. Ghosts don’t like the light,” Nell improvised, trying to placate her.

“This one does. He carried his own candle, I tell you! Besides, I don’t want to be alone. Please, Nell, stay here with me!”

Nell hesitated. But Amelia, sitting stiffly erect, the bedclothes clutched against her breast with one shaking hand while the other held on to Nell’s arm with a grasp made firm by sheer terror, looked so pathetic that Nell weakened. “Very well, dear, we’ll share the bed tonight,” she said with a soothing smile. And gently loosening Amelia’s hold on her arm, she climbed back into the bed again.

After a while, Amelia became calm enough to permit Nell to blow out the candle. But even in the darkness, neither was able to fall asleep, Amelia because she was watching and listening for the ghost to make another appearance, and Nell because she could feel the tension in Amelia’s body as she lay rigidly beside her. “Can’t you relax, Amelia?” Nell asked gently. “Do try to forget about the ghost. I’m here with you. The ghost won’t dare to make an appearance while we’re together.”

Amelia sighed. “You don’t believe me, do you?” she accused. “I can tell. Do you think I’ve gone mad?”

“Of course not! But eyes and ears can play tricks on one, especially in the night, when one is weary to the bone, as you are.”

“Hummmph!” the old woman grunted in annoyance. “You’re trying to find excuses for me. But I don’t want ’em. I know what I saw. I almost wish the ghost would reappear, so that you’d see him too!” With that, she drew the coverlet up to her neck and turned her back on Nell.

The two women lay silently beside each other and wished for sleep to come. But it was not until the light of dawn at last crept through the break in the draperies, and she realized that the ghost was not going to reappear, that Amelia finally drifted into sleep. And Nell, hearing the gentle snore from the lady beside her, at last permitted herself to do the same.