Haunted by the Earl's Touch - By Ann Lethbridge Page 0,52

‘And you could read aloud from it.’

Puzzled at his determination, Mary frowned at him.

His mother gave a little shudder. ‘I am not sure it is quite an appropriate topic for the drawing room.’

‘Do you believe in this ghost story, Mrs Hampton?’ Mary couldn’t keep the surprise out of her voice.

‘It is a story passed down from generation to generation,’ the widow said. ‘A warning from our ancestors.’

A chill breeze seemed to pass through the room. Mary glanced up, expecting to see the door open and the curtains lifted by an errant breeze, but there was nothing, only Gerald staring at his mother with an avid expression.

His older cousin looked bored. ‘He won’t stop until you read it, Miss Wilding,’ he said with a weary sigh.

‘Very well, fetch the book. We will read it by firelight and scare ourselves to death.’

Gerald gave a whoop of triumph and shot off.

Mary, aided by Jeffrey’s arm, limped the few steps to the drawing room. By the time they were settled, Gerald was back with his prize. He turned the pages until he found the chapter he wanted. ‘Read from here.’

It was only as he was riffling through the pages that Mary remembered the maps she had glanced at. The passageways and tunnels, and the caves to which they were connected.

Gerald was clearly familiar with this book, so he must be aware of them, too. But did he know that the tunnel behind her wall was in a state of good repair? Accessible?

She took the book. The handwriting was in the old style, the hand cramped, the letters f and s almost indistinguishable.

Legend tells us that tales of the ghost of a lady in white go back to the earliest days of the Reformation. Who she is, is lost in the mists of time. That she appears before the death of the Beresford earl is taken as fact by the inhabitants. The predominant tale has her as the wife of the first earl, killed by her lord so he could take another, richer wife. He was hanged when her body was found by his younger brother in the caves below the house.

‘She came before Grandfather’s death,’ Gerald declared,

At his cousin’s snort, he glowered. ‘I heard her moaning and clanking around on the battlements. Old Ned said he saw her.’

‘Old Ned would say your head was shaved and the hair in your pocket, should it lead to a pennyworth of beer,’ Jeffrey said.

At Mary’s enquiring look, he grinned. ‘Old Ned is a gardener. Older than dirt, he is, and twice as thirsty.’

‘Ned saw her,’ Gerald said, his voice cracking awkwardly, reminding all of his youth. ‘I told Grandfather.’

‘Not well done,’ his mother said.

The hairs on Mary’s arms lifted. When she looked up, her gaze found the earl’s. He had entered as quietly as a cat and, just as he had the first time she had seen him, he had paused in the shadows beyond the light of the fire and the candles. This time, however, when he caught her gaze, he immediately strode into the light.

‘And what did your grandfather say?’ the earl asked in such quiet mocking tones everyone in the room strained to hear him.

Gerald flushed. ‘He said it was hardly a prediction, when he’d been ill for weeks. But then how do we know it was his death it portended?’ He glowered at the earl.

Who ignored him. Instead he crossed to Mary’s side and held out his hand. His eyes were the colour of a lake in winter and just as cold. He was back to his normal self. ‘What are you are reading from?’

‘The history of the Abbey, my lord.’ She held it out. ‘The book you kindly reached down for me.’ She watched his face as he flipped through the pages.

He paused for a moment, frowning, then closed the book with a snap. ‘It is hardly a work of erudition if it resorts to ghosts and tales of death.’

‘It is a legend, my lord,’ Mrs Hampton said, looking up from her embroidery. ‘Well known to all Beresford descendants.’

Mary winced at the obvious slight, though the earl seemed oblivious, since he remained looking at her.

‘It is foolish nonsense,’ Mrs Hampton continued. ‘But you have a good voice for reading, Miss Wilding. Clear as a bell. No mumbling, like so many of the misses of today. Read something else.’

‘She reads well because she’s a schoolteacher,’ Gerald said.

He didn’t mean it as a compliment.

Mary took a leaf out of the earl’s book and ignored