Chapter Seven

GWINNYS TAPPED LIGHTLY on Miss Belden’s door and, without waiting for an acknowledgement, went in. After more than two weeks of service to the ladies of Thorndene, she knew what to expect. Miss Belden would be awake and stationed at the window, as usual, watching for the mysterious early morning horseman. It was her morning ritual. Miss Belden had revealed to Gwinnys, in the strictest confidence, her suspicions that the rider was a trespasser, hiding under this very roof.

Gwinnys, energetic, curious and not at all lacking in courage, had frequently suggested to her young mistress (of whom she had grown very fond, and to whom she felt a strong loyalty) that they search the house. But the young Miss had not seemed to take a real interest in the suggestion. Although it was quite clear that Miss Nell was eager to discover what she could about the trespasser, she seemed, on the other hand, to wish to avoid any action which would disturb their precariously balanced coexistence. She could have hidden herself in the stables and confronted the man on any morning during the past fortnight, but she had not wanted to do so. And Gwinnys had told her more than once that she had seen Mrs. Penloe go up a staircase behind the kitchen, carrying a loaded tray, but Miss Nell had not gone to explore the stairway and had forbidden Gwinnys to do so. The young abigail could not have put her feelings into words, but she understood instinctively that Miss Belden wanted to hold on to the magic and romance of the unsolved riddle. A mystery, once it is solved, is nothing more than a group of facts which must be dealt with. Gwinnys suspected that her beautiful, lively mistress was enjoying the mystery too much to wish to solve it.

Miss Nell was indeed standing at the window. Gwinnys came up behind her. “There’s naught to see out there, Miss Nell,” she remarked, “with the mist so thick.”

Nell sighed. “Yes, you’re right. Besides, the rain is too heavy for anyone to ride in. I may as well give up for today.”

Gwinnys busied herself readying Nell’s clothes while Nell made her ablutions in the icy water from the pitcher on her nightstand. “Tell me, Gwinnys,” she asked, toweling her face briskly, “have you had an opportunity to ask Mrs. Penloe about her family?”

“Ais, I did an’ all,” Gwinnys nodded, “but ’twas a waste o’ time. She says she has a sister lives at Carthamartha, and Will as a deal o’ relations—brothers and sisters and what-all—but none as is a proper fit to our man.”

“If ‘our man’ is not a relation to the Penloes,” Nell mused, stepping out of her nightgown with a shiver, “I cannot conceive of who he can be.”

“I’ve asked ’ee afore,” Gwinnys pointed out, “to come wi’ me up the back stairs, or to let me go alone. Here, let me help ’ee into that petticoat—you’re all of a shrim.”

“Well, who wouldn’t shiver on so cold a morning?” Nell said, hurrying into her clothes. She turned her back on the girl so that Gwinnys could button the back of her burgundy-colored muslin dress. It was a good choice for this chilly day, with its long sleeves and high-necked, gathered bodice, for it gave warmth without being as heavy or scratchy as wool. While Gwinnys devoted her attention to the tiny buttons at the back, Nell’s thoughts reverted back to her abigail’s suggestion. “As for those back stairs, Gwinnys,” she said firmly, “I insist that you stop nagging at me about them. I do not wish for a confrontation with our trespasser—at least, not yet. When I’ve made up my mind about how to handle the situation, I shall let you know.”

Gwinnys shrugged. “I mind what you say, Miss Nell. No need to be sniffy.”

“I’m not being ‘sniffy’ at all. I just want to be sure that you don’t take it into your head to explore those back stairs without my permission.”

“Don’t trouble yourself about that,” Gwinnys assured her. “I’m too timmersome to do it alone.”

“Timmersome!” Nell exclaimed with a smile. “Is that your Cornish way of saying ‘timid’? You, my girl, have not a timmersome bone in your body!”

Gwinnys ignored the teasing, completed the buttoning and stepped back to admire her handiwork. “There you be, all buttoned.” She circled her mistress admiringly. “An’ I’d lay you be a pretty sight! You look tremmin!”

“Tremmin?” Nell asked. “Another of your Cornish barbarisms? What does it mean?”

“It means, Miss, that you’re a sight for sore eyes, as any man who saw ’ee would agree.”

“Well, thank you, Gwinnys,” Nell said with a little, mocking bow. She stepped into her sturdy half-boots and went to the door. “But as Jemmy Penloe is the only unmarried male who is likely to see me, it hardly seems worth all your effort.”

It was a long, dreary day, the westerly wind whipping up to gale force by nightfall. Amelia and Nell sat near the fire after dinner, passing the time playing backgammon and trying to ignore the howl of the wind in the chimney. Mrs. Penloe, assisted by Gwinnys, brought the tea tray at ten as usual. It had become a habit to take their tea and retire, but tonight Amelia asked Nell to play another game. Nell complied, telling Gwinnys not to wait up for them.

When she at last entered her bedroom, it was almost midnight. She was struggling with the undoing of her buttons when the ghost appeared. She had not expected him quite so soon and gave a little cry of surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” the ghost said politely. “I seem to have startled you.”

“Well, isn’t that what ghosts are supposed to do?” Nell asked saucily.

“Yes, that’s true. But it’s been many days since I’ve been able to arouse any sort of proper reaction from you. You’ve grown quite complacent in my presence.”

“Yes, I have, haven’t I? I suppose that means you are not succeeding very well in your ghostly role.”

“I am a positive failure,” the ghost agreed ruefully. “If word of this leaks out among the society of ghosts, shades and phantoms, I shall not be able to hold up my head.”

“I most sincerely feel for you,” Nell said with patent insincerity. She picked up her hairbrush, took down her hair, which had been pulled back in a tidy knot at the back of her head, and began to brush vigorously.

“This is the first time I’ve seen you dressed,” the ghost remarked. “I must say you look …” he hesitated for a word.

“Tremmin?” Nell offered.

“Yes, indeed. Tremmin! The very word.”

Nell turned and peered at the faint light behind the curtain, where the shadowy, now-familiar figure of Harry D’Espry stood watching her. “Oh? Do you know that word?” she asked curiously. “It’s a Cornish coinage, I think.”

“Of course I know it. I was a true Cornishman, you know.”

“Were you? That’s another one of your claims which I’m inclined to doubt.”

“Why do you doubt me?”

“Your speech. It has always puzzled me. It seems excessively cultivated, for a smuggler.”

“That is quite easily explained. The language was spoken with more polish a century ago, for one thing. For another, I’ve haunted a number of the gentry all these years, and their ways rub off on one. Ais, ’tis a lot I’ve learned, to be sure, but I reckon I ben’t such a jinny-ninny that I cain’t bring the owld words to m’ tongue.”

Nell giggled. “You did that very well. I could almost believe that you were a Cornishman if you spoke that way consistently.”

Harry sighed. “What a suspicious female you are, to be sure. Is there nothing I say that you believe?”

“Nothing,” Nell said bluntly.

“But you must believe that you are tremmin, my dear. Your dress is a lovely color—it suits you. It’s like wine. It makes your cheeks glow.”

The hand wielding the hairbrush wavered. Harry’s compliment had thrown Nell into confusion. Although the shadow behind the curtain seemed very like a ghost, Nell had no doubt the illusion was created by a real man, a person with the abilities, qualities and feelings of any living man. There was an attraction between them—a spark that flamed up from time to time so brightly that it broke into her consciousness. Ordinarily, she would let herself forget his reality and simply accept, and enjoy, the ghost-visits. But when the spark ignited between them, she became uncomfortably aware that this was her bedroom, that he visited her here nightly, and that she was permitting a grossly improper relationship to develop. If she had any character, if she were not a wild, irresponsible, shockingly fast female, she would force a confrontation with this imposter, make him admit his crimes (whatever they were) and turn him over to the magistrates.

But she could not do it—not yet. His nightly visits were her only source of pleasure in this cold, dreary place. She counted the hours each day until she could retire and wait for him. When he was with her, something bubbled inside—something which was a heady combination of excitement, nervousness and laughter. Every once in a while, he would remind her that he represented a danger that loomed over her, but she never felt threatened. They were comfortable together, as if they’d been friends for years. Nell began to realize that her life had been a lonely one—she had no sisters or brothers, and her guardians had not encouraged her to make intimate friendships. For the first time in her life, she had found someone she could talk to in intimate, honest exchanges. She did not want to give up this experience.

“What is it, girl?” Harry asked suddenly. “Have I said something to upset you?”

She shook her head and resumed brushing. “No, not at all. It’s only that you make me uncomfortable when you … flirt with me.”

“Flirt with you? Is that what I’m doing? Nay, lass, that can’t be so. I’m only a ghost, after all. There can’t be any such nonsense between you and me.”

“Can’t there?” Nell asked, raising a challenging eyebrow. “Are you sure of that?”

“Are you disbelieving me again? Of course I’m sure.”

She eyed him speculatively for a moment. Then a gleam of mischief flickered in her expression. She put her hands behind her and began to struggle with her buttons. “Sometimes it’s too bad that you’re a ghost,” she sighed.

“Why?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“Well, if you were real, you could help me with these.”

“With what?” the ghost asked. “What are you doing?”

She turned her back to him, to show him. “I’m undoing these blasted buttons, you see? There are dozens of them. If you were real, you could—”

“But why are you undoing them now?” the ghost asked in some chagrin.

“Why not now?” Nell asked, turning an innocent face in his direction.

“Because … because …” Harry muttered uncomfortably.

“Well?” she insisted, continuing to undo the buttons.

“I say!” he exclaimed, outraged. “You don’t mean to undress while I’m here, do you?”

“Of course I do. You’re only a ghost, after all. You can’t touch me or flirt with me, or—”

“Never mind all that. It is not proper to—”

“Don’t be silly,” she insisted. “You told me yourself that you can see through walls. Therefore you’ve probably been seeing through my clothes all this time. Surely there’s no need now for me to behave like a simpering miss—!”

“Good Lord, woman!” the ghost exclaimed, sputtering. “You surely don’t believe that I’ve been … oggling you through your clothes all this time! Like … like a blasted Peeping Tom!”

“What else am I to think?” she asked with exaggerated reasonableness. “I’ve become quite accustomed to the thought of it by now. So there’s no need to fall into a taking over my undressing, is there? Not after all this time.” Most of the buttons had, by this time, been unhooked, and Nell daringly pulled the gown from her left shoulder.

“Nell,” Harry growled, “you go too far. Stop that!”

Nell merely tossed her head and bared her shoulder even more.

“Very well. Miss,” Harry said furiously, “I bid you goodnight!” And he faded away.

Nell laughed. “Oh, very well, Harry, I’ll stop.” She pulled the dress back up to her neck and quickly rebuttoned the back. “You can come back now.”

But there was no answer, and no light glowed from behind the curtain.

“Harry? Harry! Come back! I promise to behave.” But the ghost had gone for the night.

The gale continued through the night, and the wind still raged the next morning when Mrs. Penloe brought Lord Thorne’s breakfast to his room. She found him lounging on the window-seat, an open book forgotten on his lap, staring out the window at the rain lashing against the pane. But instead of the gloomy expression which she thought the inclement weather would bring to his face, she noted that a faint smile curled his lips and his eyes were bright and amused. “Don’t see what there is about the rain to make ’ee smile so,” she remarked as she set his table.

“It isn’t the rain, love,” he said, rousing himself from his reverie. “Only a bit of a memory.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Penloe asked, looking at him with interest. “Somethin’ you mind from your chiel’ood?”

“No. More recent than that,” he explained as he hobbled over to the table.

Mrs. Penloe set the coffee pot at his elbow and uncovered the eggs. “I’m surprised at ’ee bein’ so cheerful, what wi’ the weather so nasty-like, and the ladies still hangin’ about.”

He buttered a hot biscuit generously and smiled up at her. “I don’t mind the ladies. They don’t seem to pry or get in my way. As for the weather, well, what can one expect in Cornwall at this time of year? Sit down, Mrs. Penloe, and have a bite with me. You’ve brought enough food to feed six.”

“You don’t mind the ladies?” Mrs. Penloe asked in surprise, sitting down at the table opposite him.

“No, not at all. Why should I?”

“Well, you’re stuck in this room so much, for one thing. I was sure you’d get housey.”

“No, I don’t mind. I have my books. And you, Will and Jemmy pop in often enough to cheer me. So long as our visitors don’t come poking about where they’re not wanted, I don’t mind having them here.”

Mrs. Penloe propped her chin on her hand and fixed her eyes on his face. “But what if they should come pokin’ about?”

“I don’t see why they should, if they haven’t so far,” he said carelessly, lifting a forkful of egg. But suddenly his hand stayed. “Why?” he asked, his complacent expression gone. “Do you think they will?”

She shrugged. “’Tis the only thing that keeps me afeared. Do ’ee still pay the girl ghost-visits?”

He looked at her guiltily and nodded.

“Don’t seem to frighten her, do they?”

“No,” he admitted.

She reached for a biscuit and said with elaborate casualness, “Then I don’t see why you bother.”

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “I enjoy the game. Do you think I should stop?”

“’Tis not for me to say.”

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. “Tush, woman, I’ve never known you to hold your tongue when you’ve something on your mind.”

“You reckon I’ve somethin’ on my mind?”

“Yes, I do. You’ve been sitting there tearing that biscuit to shreds without eating a crumb. So speak up, love. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

“’Tis you an’ the young woman what’s troublin’ me. Seems to me you’re both enjoyin’ these ghost-visits. That’s why she’s not pokin’ about—she has no wish to upset the applecart.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true. Go on.”

She lifted her head and looked at him levelly. “It seems to be you’ve a real likin’ for one another. Then why not face her in the open? Cain’t you be abroad wi’ her?”

Harry stared at her for a long moment. Then he put down his fork, rose and limped to the window. “No,” he said at last, “I can’t be ‘abroad’ with anyone. Nothing has changed. Nothing can change.”

“I been watchin’ the young lady for more’n a fortnight,” Mrs. Penloe said gently, coming up behind him and putting a hand on his arm. “She ben’t a giglot. A good, strong girl she be. ’Twould not matter to her that you’ve only one leg.”

Harry turned and looked down at the little housekeeper, a mockery of a smile on his face. “Are you trying to be a matchmaker, my dear?” he asked with forced humor. “There’s no use, you know. I’m determined to remain a bachelor.” He turned back to the window. “And don’t trouble yourself about my ghost-visits,” he added softly. “I’ll do what I can to end the game we’ve been playing. She’ll find herself bored to distraction soon enough and will take herself off to London.”

Mrs. Penloe’s heart sank. Not only had she failed to change his mind about facing the outside world, but she’d spoiled his happy mood. “Oh, Master Harry,” she asked miserably, “be ’ee nipped wi’ me?”

Harry, with a great effort of will, pulled himself out of the doldrums and turned to her with a smile. “Of course not, love,” he said, lifting her chin and bending to kiss her cheek. “Nothing you’d ever say could vex me. Come, give us a smile and put this business out of your mind.”

She tried to comply, but the heaviness of her heart could not be pushed away. The hopeful feeling she had nurtured during the past fortnight was gone, and a depression such as she’d not felt since the ladies had arrived settled on her spirit like a black cloud.

The ghost did not make an appearance for the next two nights. By the third night, Nell was in such a state of nervous anxiety that she trembled at every sound. Even Amelia noticed her agitation and made a comment at the dinner table. Nell excused herself shortly after nine o’clock and ran upstairs. What could have happened? she asked herself over and over. Was Harry angry with her because of the rather tasteless teasing she had indulged in when she’d pretended to undress? Gwinnys tapped on the door, but Nell dismissed her for the night. She undressed quickly, put on a very proper, starched white nightdress and her prettiest lace-trimmed cap, and climbed into bed. It was only a little past ten. She plumped the pillows and sat back against them primly, waiting with a beating heart for the light to appear.

Midnight came and went. When the hall clock struck one, and the ghost had still not made an appearance, Nell turned her face into the pillows and wept. But suddenly she heard the thumping footsteps that always heralded his appearance, and she sat up abruptly, the tears still wet on her cheeks. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed in tremulous relief. “Wherever have you b-been?”

“Good Lord!” the ghost blurted out incredulously, “have you been crying?”

“Of c-course I’ve been c-crying. I … I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried? About me? Don’t be daft, girl. No one worries about a ghost.”

“I do. I was afraid something dreadful had happened to you.”

Harry laughed. “But, my dear, nothing can happen to a phantom. We merely go on and on through the centuries, untouched, unharmed, unchanged—”

“Then why didn’t you come?” she demanded petulantly. “Did you wish to punish me?”

Harry was startled. “Punish you? Why would I wish to punish you?”

“You know very well why!” She looked down at the bedclothes embarrassedly. “Although I didn’t dream you could be such a … a prig.”

“Prig?” asked Harry completely puzzled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You are equivocating, sir. Surely you are fully aware of the incident to which I refer. And only a prig could have believed that I would really undress in front of a man—ghost or no ghost.”

“Oh, that!” Harry said with a laugh. “You surely don’t believe I stayed away for such a ridiculous reason as that. Good God, girl, you looked so charming that night, it was all I could do to force myself to leave!”

“Oh,” said Nell in a small voice, blushing hotly.

“I suppose I did sound like a prig,” Harry admitted ruefully. “I was merely trying to prove to you that, sometimes, I can behave like a gentleman.”

“Perhaps you can,” Nell admitted, “but I’m not at all certain it was gentlemanly to stay away for two nights when you knew I was expecting you. Why did you—?”

“I was busy. I had some thinking to do.”

“Thinking? About what?”

“Well, to be quite honest, about you, my dear.”

She looked up at him with interest. “Why were you thinking about me?”

“I was trying to find a new scheme to use to frighten you off.”

Nell’s face fell. “To … frighten me? I don’t understand—”

“I have my reputation to think of,” he explained. “My ghostly reputation. The word is spreading among my … er … ghostly confreres that I have not succeeded in dislodging you, even after all this time. I think, therefore, that the time has come for me to buckle down seriously to work.”

“But … but I thought you’d given up trying to frighten me off. I’ve told you from the first that I don’t intend to be driven from this house. I thought you’d accepted that fact.”

“No, my dear, I’ve not accepted it. Not as a fact or even as a possibility.”

“You must have!” she insisted. “You haven’t even tried to frighten me since your second visit. I was convinced … I felt sure that …” She faltered.

“What?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, you see, we’ve been getting on so well, laughing and joking together … that I thought we’d come to … an understanding …”

“Only a temporary truce, I’m afraid,” Harry said gently.

The words sent a chill through her. Something was happening that threatened to change everything, and she was not yet ready for a change. “Do you … w-wish to be rid of me?” she asked, vulnerable as a child.

There was a momentary silence. Then the ghost said quietly, “It is my job to be rid of you. That is what ghosts are meant to do, is it not?”

She stared at him, biting her underlip to keep it from quivering. She had been rejected! And not by a ghost—by an ordinary man! A worse than ordinary man. He was a vulgar, dishonest, thieving trespasser! And yet the pain she now felt was stronger than anything she’d felt before. Three broken betrothals and any number of flirtations with gentlemen of quality had not prepared her for feelings like this.

But Nell had pride and spirit. She’d rather have died than let him see how he’d hurt her. She lifted her head and sat up, erect and cold. “You can stop spouting rubbish about ghosts, Mr. D’Espry. Do you take me for a fool? I told you a fortnight ago, and I tell you now—I am here, and here I shall remain!”

Harry sighed. “I suspected you’d say that.”

“Well, then—?” she challenged.

“Then it seems the truce is over, and the battle lines are drawn. Sorry, girl.”

“No need to be sorry for me, sir! I can take care of myself very well—especially against a mere ghost.”

The ghost rubbed his chin regretfully. “Well, then, I suppose there’s nothing more to say. Goodnight, my dear.”

Nell didn’t care to watch him fade away. She blew out her candle, flounced down into the bed and turned her back on him.

“Won’t you even bid me goodnight?” the ghost asked, hopefully. “Just once more, while the truce is still in effect?”

“You can go to the d-devil!” she threw at him over her shoulder.

“Not only was that unkind,” the ghost said reprovingly, “but quite unladylike.”

“Unladylike!” she cried, sitting up and staring at his fading form. “I can’t afford to be ladylike. This is war!”