“I saw someone out in the garden,” Elizabeth said.
“Who did you see?” Jocelyn raised a weary hand to her face and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. When her mother remained silent, irritation seared Jocelyn. The hour of sleep she’d managed earlier hadn’t countered her fatigue, and her head pounded. “Why didn’t you summon Tilly or one of the maids? Why did you go outside in the middle of the night? Everyone was worried about you.”
“There is no need for you to take that tone with me, Jocelyn Anne.”
Jocelyn barely caught back a snort. Her mother’s mind hadn’t suffered from the knock to her noggin. Her mouth twisted at the irony because if anything, the jolt appeared to have improved her memory. She seemed her old self, avoiding answering Jocelyn’s questions while treating her daughter like an unruly child.
“Mother, why did you go outside?”
“The ghost summoned me. How could I not go? It was an order.”
“An order?” Jocelyn spluttered. Of all the ridiculous things. A ghost. She shook her head and mutely stared at her mother.
“Well, if you want the truth, I thought it was your father.”
“Father.” Jocelyn was starting to feel like the parrot one of their neighbors had owned when she was a child, repeating everything said. She counted to three under her breath. Her father had been an idiot, gambling away his estate and his daughter. She shoved away the memories and continued. “You couldn’t have waited until the morning to commune with him?”
“The ghost was most urgent with his summons. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to speak with him.”
“But Leo said the moors are dangerous, especially at night. Remember what Leo told us? You could have fallen into a bog and disappeared. As it was you hit your head. You could have died if Leo hadn’t found you.”
“Your husband scared off the ghost.”
“I don’t think so,” Jocelyn snapped. “Ghosts are fictitious beings.”
Elizabeth took on a mulish expression. “The maids say the ghosts of lost travelers wander the moors during the night. Apart from your father, I didn’t see any.”
Jocelyn could feel a lecture coming on and spoke rapidly to forestall it. “If Leo hadn’t found you in time you’d be joining the ghostly wanderers. Promise me you won’t leave the house at night again. It’s dangerous, not only for you, but for all the servants and the kindly locals who left their beds to search for you.”
Her mother’s forehead scrunched into lines. “But what if your father summons me again?”
“He’s certainly not here at Merrivale. Father is dead.” Saint Bridget, give her strength. “If anyone summons you again in the middle of the night, come and get me or Leo. We’ll invite them in for a drink, and you can have a chat in cozy warmth.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I didn’t like to wake you.”
Yet her mother didn’t seem to worry about disturbing them with her shrieks at random times during the night and day. Jocelyn sent a silent prayer skyward since Saint Bridget wasn’t granting her appropriate strength. “Promise me, Mother. Please. I don’t want to see you hurt or worse.”
“You’re a good girl,” her mother said, reaching out to pat her hand. “I’ll let you know the instant the ghost appears to me again. Maybe you could talk to your father to learn where he stashed his money. I’m sure that’s what he wishes to discuss.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Jocelyn exchanged a glance with Tilly who had returned from a short break.
Anything Jocelyn said to her father would not be polite. His selfishness during his life had caused lasting repercussions. Yes, all the money he’d possessed was long gone, spent on wine, gambling and loose women. It was a pity he had hadn’t taken after his father—her grandfather.
Jocelyn stood abruptly. “Would you like me to retrieve your needlework basket? I believe I saw it in the Blue parlor.”
“I have a headache,” her mother said. “I believe I’d like to rest.”
“As you wish. I’ll check in on you later.” Jocelyn smiled at Tilly and left the room. Downstairs, she consulted with Mrs. Green. They’d decided to refresh several of the rooms and remove the accumulated clutter. While Jocelyn could have left the task to the household staff, she liked to keep busy and involved with the running of the house.
“We can start on the room at the far end of the passage,” Jocelyn suggested.
“That’s the Chinese room,” Mrs. Green said. “Mr. Sherbourne used the room when the first Mrs. Sherbourne was alive. For privacy, he said.” Mrs. Green paused, a faint trace of red appearing in her cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to gossip.”
Aware of a chance to learn more about Ursula Sherbourne, Jocelyn waved her hand to dismiss Mrs. Green’s concerns. “You’re not gossiping, Mrs. Green. There is a difference between knowledge and the passing of hearsay.”
Mrs. Green thawed enough to give her a stiff smile.
Jocelyn sought the right questions to retrieve information without upsetting the woman—any details to help her discern the truth of the relationship between Leo and Ursula. “For what purpose did he use the room?”
“I believe Mr. Sherbourne read and did his correspondence there. He uses the study near the salon now. The maids dust once a week, but no one has used the Chinese room for months.”
Jocelyn pressed her right hand to her temple, gingerly rubbing in an effort to dispel the dull ache. That was strange. Why would Leo bypass his perfectly good study to use another room at the far end of the manor? Yet another puzzle to add to her list.
“If you have a headache, we could do this another day,” Mrs. Green said.
Her shrewd observance confirmed Jocelyn’s summation of the woman. Mrs. Green didn’t miss much in her domain. Jocelyn checked the pins holding her cap in place and fiddled with them until she was satisfied it would remain on her head. “Today is fine, Mrs. Green. I require a task to occupy my mind.”
Mrs. Green gave a brisk nod. “I’ll summon two footmen to shift the furniture, and a maid to help with the dusting and cleaning.”
“Thank you.” Jocelyn made her way to the Chinese room. She drew back the heavy curtains to flood the room with light. While no dust covered the surfaces, it was obvious the room hadn’t been used for some time. For one, no one would manage to move with the amount of clutter filling the space. Stacks of books sat on top of the two side tables near the window. There were more books sitting on the upright chair near an open fireplace and several piles on the floor.
Jocelyn started to collect the books into one area, ready to return to the library. She dislodged an embroidered cushion when she leaned over to pick up a leather-bound book from the back of a chair. A scrap of parchment caught her attention. Tucked down the back, it must have escaped notice. Curious, she tugged it free and discovered it was part of a letter. Most of the salutation was missing.
ula,
I will wait for you in the copse by the river at midnight. I can’t wait to hold you in my arms. Until then, my darling.
J.W.
Ursula perhaps? This note was proof of an affair, but how had it come to be tucked down the back of the chair? Leo had used this room. Her breath caught, thoughts whirring through her head faster than the turn of a mill wheel. Had Leo intercepted this note? She knew his first wife had been unfaithful, knew of Leo’s displeasure regarding the fact. But many husbands and wives had discreet affairs once an heir plus a spare had been produced. She studied the contents of the note again. If Leo had felt cuckolded would this propel him to take action?
Would it drive him to murder?
A crinkling sound made her realize she was crushing the note. She smoothed the paper out and stared at the words.
Had Leo murdered Ursula and attempted to pass it off as an accident?
Approaching footsteps galvanized her to action, and she tucked the note inside her bodice.
Mrs. Green appeared in the doorway with two footmen in tow. “Too much furniture,” she said in her decisive tone.
“I agree. Some of the chairs and at least one of the tables could go,” Jocelyn said. “I rather like the Chinese furniture. Perhaps we could leave that and stay with a Chinese theme to match the paintings on the wall?” She gestured at the stylized bird and bamboo paintings.
“Perfect,” Mrs. Green said.
“Do we have a basket or a box we could use to pack up these books? They should all be returned to the library.”
“Yes, I have just the thing. I’ll retrieve it after I’ve given the footmen directions.”
Jocelyn continued to gather the books to a central point while Mrs. Green gave orders to the two footmen. While the housekeeper remained a little frosty, they worked well together, their tastes much in line. It made for a harmonious working relationship and hopefully reduced Mrs. Green’s anxiety about having her position usurped.
During her task, she kept her eye out for more notes, but didn’t find anything else to help her come to an understanding about Ursula. The rest of the morning passed and, by the time they’d completed the task, Jocelyn was ready for a rest. One—no—two things plagued her the entire time. Who was J.W. and had Leo taken action to make sure his wife never strayed again?
In her chamber, she removed her cap and tidied her hair, smoothing frizzy red strands until she appeared respectable. It was time to check on her mother. When she turned into the corridor leading to her mother’s suite, the screams started. Jocelyn sighed and hastened her steps. She burst through the doorway, took one look at her mother and relaxed a fraction when nothing major appeared amiss. Completely random things set her off, and Jocelyn had given up trying to discern the reasons behind her mother’s erratic behavior.
Jocelyn placed her hands on her hips, taking time to catch her breath. “Is there a problem?”
“Elizabeth wishes to walk in the gardens. I think she should wait until the morrow.” Tilly glowered at her charge.
Jocelyn studied the stubborn jut of her mother’s jaw. The heightened color in her cheeks indicated more to come. Another raucous screech started Jocelyn’s ears ringing, almost before she’d completed her thought. “Mother, really! What sort of example is this for Cassie? Do you want her to learn bad habits from you?”
“But I want to go for a walk.”
Jocelyn strolled over to the window and peered down at the garden. “That’s impossible right now.” She turned back to her mother. “Come and look out the window at the mist rolling in. You won’t see your hand in front of your face shortly. I hear it’s easy to become disorientated.”
Elizabeth stamped her foot and drew a sharp breath.
“Do not scream. Please, Mother. I have a pounding head.”
Elizabeth’s breath whooshed out. “I am feeling a trifle tired. Perhaps I will stitch more clothes for Cassie’s doll,” her mother said in one of her lightning-quick mood changes.
“That’s a good idea. Perhaps Cassie can spend time with us this afternoon.” Crisis averted. Jocelyn beckoned for Tilly to join her outside. “Why don’t you have a rest? I’ll supervise Mother.”
Tilly smothered a yawn, the dark circles beneath her eyes telling of her fatigue. “The bang on the head hasn’t slowed her down. I have a horrid feeling this is just the start.”
“Please don’t say that.” Jocelyn tried to tamp down her concern because she understood exactly what Tilly meant. The periods of rationality were less frequent, and Jocelyn couldn’t help but worry about the future.
Strategically placed lanterns lit the way, a twinkling path through the darkness of the abbey. Leo watched from the hillside, taking in as much as possible in the gloomy ruins. Finally, he slipped his mask into place and half slid, half walked down the hillside to join the line of drunken men and women traipsing deeper into the abbey. He merged with the laughing stragglers, so drunk they teetered and swayed.
Like him, each of the men and women wore a mask to conceal their identities, their long capes obscuring their clothing and personal items that might hint at their names.
Leo drifted with the group and ended up in a part of the abbey that was still intact with walls and a ceiling. Separate cells divided the spacious room, formerly used by monks before the dissolution of the monasteries. Lanterns lit some of the cells. A low chanting drifted from the far right corner while moans of passion came from in front of him.
He stepped nearer, the flash of a pasty bum almost blinding him with its whiteness. The rhythmic grunts and thrusts brought an answering feminine cry.
In the next cell, a masked woman knelt before two men, tonguing and sucking on their cocks while the men carried on a low conversation. The woman, obviously tired of being ignored, lifted her head. The men paused and one of them placed his hand on the woman’s head, guiding her mouth back to his dick.
Leo wandered on, nodding at the masked people he passed but not stopping to speak to anyone. He entered another room, this one larger and crowded with masked people. Sconces held flickering torches and a strangely sweet scent carried on the air. Palpable excitement filled the abbey, fuelled by sexual tension and the copious amounts of wine served by women wearing transparent gowns. Their masks were more substantial than their clothing.
One of them sauntered up to him. “Like a drink, love?”
Leo gave a curt nod and accepted one of the glasses from her silver tray. She pranced away with a twitch of her scantily clad arse.
“Want some company?” A woman hooked her arm through his, tugging him to a stop. “You’re a fine figure of a man. I could show you a good time.”
“I’m searching for someone special,” Leo said.
She cuddled her breast against his arm. “I could change your mind.”
Leo didn’t recognize her voice. “Not tonight. I have particular needs in mind.” He removed her arm from his and stepped away. His scan of the room showed several people wearing maroon cloaks and masks. Edging closer, he propped himself against a cold stone wall, taking intermittent sips from his glass.
A shrill whistle cut the din and the excited chattering faded. The men and women standing around Leo turned to face a man standing on a dais. A maroon cloak disguised his form. Eagerness pulsated through the abbey, most mouths curved in leering grins. The women to Leo’s right appeared plain bored. Leo turned his attention back to the man, noting a large square item beside the man’s makeshift platform. A thick maroon cover hid concealed the contents.
“Fellow monks,” the man hollered. “We have a very special event for you tonight.” He paused, the final notes of his husky voice still echoing through the central room. Leo couldn’t place him. The pause lengthened as the man skillfully played his audience, stoking expectation. No one shuffled or quaffed their drinks. No one spoke to break the silence. Instead they focused on the man, the pending announcement.
“Let me present, Marguerite!”
On uttering the words, he gestured at two monks on his right. They whisked the maroon cover off to reveal a gilt cage. Inside a woman perched on a tall chair. Practically naked, she wore a transparent chemise, her rouged nipples showing clearly through the thin fabric. Her dark hair rippled down her back, a contrast to her creamy skin.
Along with everyone else, Leo stared at Marguerite, mesmerized by the image presented. She looked vaguely familiar. Who—? The answer sprang into his mind.
This was Ella.
He studied her afresh and wondered why she was sitting so calmly, then recalled the unidentified sweet scent. They’d drugged her into submission.
“This morsel of feminine loveliness is available to the highest bidder. I’m sure you’ve noticed her beauty.”
“Is she a virgin?” someone asked.
“Of course. Why would you suggest anything else?” His toothy smile encompassed the audience. “Her virgin status brings added value.”
A low buzz of chatter filled the room before the man lifted his hand. “Let the bidding begin.”
Leo tensed, as the bidding raced to a rapid start. He lifted his hand to indicate a bid of his own.