Chapter Four
The following evening, while Mr. Benedict sat with Rosa in her chamber, Caroline took a candle and went to the library. She went partly to find a new book to read, and partly to avoid the strange bated breath with which she seemed to await Mr. Benedict’s departure from his daughter’s room. Shut up in the library, she would not hear his uneven footsteps or imagine his hand raised to knock at her door.
She found the library, a rather dusty room with a large and ancient fireplace, in total darkness. By the light of her own candle, she discovered others and lit them from hers. She carried one with her as she prowled along the book-lined walls, examining titles and occasionally kneeling on the floor with a book to look further.
Overall, it was a motley collection, with nothing about plants that she could discover, so she doubted they were Benedict’s books. It must have belonged to the house’s owners, the tragic Gardyn family whose last heir had vanished as a child. Most people believed she was dead, but without proof, the estate was apparently kept in trust for her by distant family.
Caroline hated to think of dead or frightened children, so she hastily plucked a novel off the shelf to distract herself and went to the window seat to read. Neither the shutters nor the curtains had been drawn, so although it was rather chilly without a fire, she could press her back to the wall and occasionally glance up from her book to the dark, starkly beautiful scenery that surrounded the hall. All that was missing was the sea. At Braithwaite Castle, you could see the water from almost every side.
She allowed herself a moment to think of the Braithwaite girls and miss them. But since sentiment achieved nothing, she concentrated determinedly on Pamela.
Soft, uneven footsteps passed the library and hurried down the stairs. Mr. Benedict, no doubt, going back to his study instead of to his bedchamber. Even here, she was aware of his movements.
Drawing the shawl tighter around her, she read on. Another ten minutes and she would return to her cozy bedchamber.
Without warning, the library door banged shut.
Caroline jumped, dropping the book, which tumbled onto the floor. How had the door banged? She’d closed it when she’d come in. She rose, picked up the book, and hastened to the door. Pulling it open, she gazed onto the dark landing. A light shone under the drawing room door, and she had just taken a step toward it when she glimpsed something from the corner of her eye, something flitting silently past at the foot of the stairs.
Uneasily, she relit her candle and walked downstairs to investigate. But before she was half way down, a strange, unearthly howl filled her ears, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. It didn’t sound like the same crying she’d heard emanating from Miss Benedict’s room. It seemed to come from downstairs, though she supposed Miss Benedict could move around the house if she chose. Unless Betty Smith was right that Javan Benedict locked her in.
This was a truly bizarre household.
The howl came again, more distant. Her curiosity thoroughly aroused—along with a desire to make it stop in case it woke and frightened Rosa—she ran the rest of the way downstairs, following what she thought was the direction of the noise, across the entrance hall to the passage that led to the side door and the study beyond.
Rounding the corner at full tilt, she ran up against something—someone—hurtling in the opposite direction. She gasped in shock as hands seized her by the shoulders and her candle wobbled precariously, it’s flame flickering wildly over the face of her assailant. Javan Benedict.
Fortunately, he looked as stunned as she. “Miss Grey!” he exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing?”
“I heard something, a howling,” she blurted. “I thought it came from this direction.”
“And I from the other,” he said ruefully. He didn’t seem to be aware he still held her by the shoulders, the candle squashed dangerously between them. “The layout of this house seems to bounce sound so that you cannot locate it. Where were you?”
“I was in the library and the door banged. I came out to investigate and I thought I saw something downstairs, and then I heard the howling.”
“The library door?” he repeated. “That’s interesting.” He released her without apology and took the candle from her before striding on down the passage back to the entrance hall.
Since she didn’t know what else to do, she trotted after him. At last, as they crossed the hall, she said, low, “Why is the library interesting?”
She froze as he whipped around and thrust one finger over her lips. Although quite clearly a demand for silence—and an irritable one at that—his touch seemed to fizz through her. It only lasted a moment, though, for a knocking sound above was swiftly followed by a most horrible screeching and clanking. Like the clanking chains she’d heard tell of Blackhaven. A shudder ran through her.
Forgetting about silence, Benedict broke into a run, taking the stairs three at a time, while Caroline hurried after him. She held onto the bannister as a guide, since she could barely make out any of the bouncing light carried by her employer.
He threw open the library door, allowing some of the light from there to spill out. Relieved, Caroline ran up the last couple of steps and followed him inside. Apart from Mr. Benedict, the room was empty. He stood in the middle, slowly turning to peer into every corner.
“The library is interesting,” he said without interrupting his deliberate search, “because he has never been there before. Or at least made no noise there. It has always been on the ground floor.”
“He?” she pounced. “Then someone was here?”
“Do you believe in ghosts, Miss Grey?” he asked, blowing out her candle and setting it down on the table.
“No.”
“Neither do I. Therefore, I believe it was quite distinctly a live someone.”
“Who?” she asked bewildered.
“Someone who wants to frighten us away, I suspect, as they frightened previous tenants.”
She searched his face and shivered. It was the intruder who should have been frightened. “You’re not afraid,” she observed.
“No, but I won’t have him frightening Rosa, so I will put a stop to it.”
“How often does this happen?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Several times within a couple of weeks when we first came. Lately, only once or twice a month. As if they lost heart because we didn’t immediately run but can’t quite give up what worked so well for them in the past.”
“Does Rosa hear the commotion?”
“Not so far. It always happens around this time, when she is already asleep and fortunately, she sleeps deeply. Otherwise, I doubt we would still be here. He doesn’t go near people, even the servants, just makes noises from a distance. His aim is to scare not to harm.”
“Do you know who it is?”
He shrugged. “One of the local well-to-do farmers who wants to buy up the hall and grounds cheaply. While the estate still makes money from the rent of the hall, the trustees are less likely to sell it. At least, that’s all I can think of. I’d suspect it was young boys out for a lark, except I’m fairly sure there’s only one of them.”
“But how does he get in?” Caroline wondered.
“Incisive as always,” Benedict said with unexpected approval. “I wondered if he might have an old key, but I had all the locks changed, and still he comes in. My money now is on some kind of secret passage. Do you know what I think?”
She frowned, her breath catching with the possibility. “That the passage opens here in the library! No one uses this room. He came in earlier and tried to leave by the same means, only I was here and he rushed out in shock, letting the door bang behind him!” She frowned. “But the howling came after the door banged.”
“Maybe this wasn’t a howling night,” he said flippantly. “Sometimes, he just moves things around. We find boots in the dining room, a fruit bowl on the hall stand, a painting on the wrong wall. I think he howled to get you out of the library so he could get in unobserved. He won’t have expected you to follow him, so I do hope you gave him a fright.”
“So do I! Have you reported these intrusions to the magistrate?”
“No, I couldn’t abide the fuss. I’ll deal with it myself.”
“If you know who it is, perhaps you should call on him and make it clear you know. Frighten him.”
“I tried that. I think it is Nairn’s son from White Farm. But old Nairn refused to take the hint. He denied it to my face, in fact, but he knew more than he pretended.”
“That was when the visitations lessened?” she asked.
He nodded, casting her a curious glance. “You’re very quick witted, Miss Grey.”
“Thank you.”
He sank onto the window seat she had vacated only minutes before and fixed her with his direct, curious gaze. “Are you not frightened away by this intrusion?”
She thought about it. It might have been his presence, but she didn’t feel scared at all. “No. I believe I would like him frightened off. He may be no physical threat to Rosa, but any stranger in her home is alarming and inexcusable. Hence my advice to inform the magistrate. Mr. Winslow is most helpful.”
“He may be, but I shall have him—our intruder—next time. All I have to do is find where the passage opens.”
Caroline frowned. “The clanking we heard must have been the secret door opening and closing.” She went to the fireplace wall, knocking it in various places with her knuckles in search of a hollow sound. The big fireplace made a likelier noise, so, under his apparently amused scrutiny, she knocked and poked in various places, eventually crouching down to try the lower tiles and twisting the decorative roses at the bottom.
“Enough, Miss Grey,” came his voice behind her, so close that it made her jump. She had been so involved in finding the passage that she hadn’t seen him move. His boots were planted close beside her. His hand appeared as he bent to help her rise. “While I appreciate your enthusiasm, I fear your continuous knocking is more likely than the howling to disturb Rosa and Marjorie.”
She flushed and tried to rise without his aid, but he caught her fingers and tugged her to her feet more swiftly than she was prepared for. She clutched the mantelpiece with her free hand, while he held on to her hand until she was steady.
“I apologize,” she said, mortified. “I’m afraid I got stupidly carried away. You are quite right.”
He stood too close. His warmth seemed to seep into her own. She could smell his distinctive scent, soap and sandalwood, and the hint of wine on his breath. Though it took conscious bravery to meet and hold his gaze, he did not appear to be angry. In fact, there was a hint of humor in those hard, grey eyes.
“There is no need for apologies,” he said mildly. “If Williams and I find it tomorrow, you will be the first to know. Though we had best keep it from Rosa, at least until we’ve caught the miscreant and blocked up the passage.”
“She is bound to hear you knocking from the schoolroom,” Caroline pointed out.
“Then we’ll pretend to be checking for woodworm.”
“And if you don’t find the passage?”
“Williams or I will sit in here every evening until our intruder returns. One way or another, we will find it.”
His eyes weren’t really hard at all, she decided, just veiled, secretive. In fact, reflecting the glow of the candles on the mantel shelf, they were warm, intense and rather beautiful. The shadows emphasized the strong lines and hollows of his face, and she had the sudden, insane urge to touch the ridged scar on his cheek.
Somehow, she managed to nod. She didn’t seem able to breathe freely enough to speak. His lips curved into a faint smile, drawing her gaze, and her wayward thoughts. How would they feel against hers? How did such a man as Javan Benedict kiss?
Shocked by her own speculation, she almost snatched her hand free and slipped past him.
“Yes, please do let me know what you find,” she managed to say as she walked to the door. “I shall be most intrigued. Goodnight, Mr. Benedict.”
She wasn’t sure he answered, but she did feel the heat of his gaze burning into the back of her neck as she fled.