Moonlight and Mistletoe

She had thrust his coat into his arms and whisked inside before Guy could argue, leaving him on the doorstep. Somewhat impetuous! Yes, that was certainly one way to describe Miss Lattimer. And determined with it. Not that he could criticise either trait; it was impetuosity that had brought him down here and stubborn determination that was keeping him. That, and a speaking pair of golden brown eyes.

The newly polished door knocker caught his attention and he raised a hand to it. It was an unusual design: a bow, pivoted at the top and hung so that it would strike against a quiver of arrows at its base.

A crescent moon and a hunting bow—Diana’s symbols.

The cry from the casement above his head was sudden and short, cut off on a choking gasp. Guy took a rapid step backwards to stare up, but the window was almost closed and there was nothing to be seen. The silence that followed was almost as alarming and he shouldered his way through the door and took the stairs two at a time without conscious thought.

The room above the door was a bedchamber and to his relief Hester was there, alone and on her feet. She was staring through an open door, her clasped hands raised to her mouth as if to push back any further sound.

He reached her side and looked past her into a perfectly normal-seeming dressing room. ‘Miss Lattimer? Hester, what is it? What scared you?’

‘The pearls,’ she said with some difficulty. She unclasped her hands and pointed at the floor, which was strewn with small white globes.

‘You have broken your necklace,’ Guy soothed. Hers seemed a disproportionate reaction, it must be a much loved heirloom. ‘They will easily be restrung, there is no harm done. Let me call your maid to gather them up.’

‘She has gone to the nearest farm for eggs,’ Hester said stiffly. ‘I did not break it. I found it on the floor, broken, the first night we were here. The pearls were picked up and put in that bowl there.’ She pointed at a delicate china bowl on the dressing table. ‘That has not moved. How did they come to be spilt again?’

‘Perhaps your maid knocked them over this morning and neglected to replace them.’ She was shivering with reaction. Concerned, Guy put out a hand and touched her shoulder.

‘No, she came downstairs when I did, then went out without coming back up.’

‘Young Ackland? Your companion?’

‘He would not come into my chamber without asking first, whether or not I was here, and I know Miss Prudhome has not been upstairs since before breakfast.’

Guy looked at the window, closed almost to the top. No breeze stirred the heavy curtains; besides, what flapping curtain could scoop the pearls from a bowl, but leave it untouched?

‘Have you a cat?’

‘No.’ He felt her shoulder move under his palm, almost as though she was bracing herself. ‘I must pick them up.’ She took a step forward, then stopped on the threshold and froze.

To hell with the proprieties. Guy swept her off her feet, heeled the dressing-room door closed and took her to the chaise where he sat down, Hester on his knee, and demanded, ‘What was all that about? You are quite safe now.’

For answer there was a muffled hiccup from the region of his shoulder where she had buried her face. ‘I am not crying, and I am merely very cross with myself for being a ninny.’

‘No, of course you aren’t crying.’ Guy knew better than to agree with remarks about being a ninny. He had a sister.

Then, more clearly, ‘I am such a coward, I was not going to let it prey on my mind and at the first little thing I go to pieces.’

Now what to say? If he agreed that the pearls were a little thing, he was agreeing with her own self-criticism. If he said that, in fact, it was a mystery—and apparently a disturbing one—that would only frighten her more. It might suit his purpose for her to take a dislike to the house, but this was not the way to achieve it. Guy contented himself with gently rubbing her shoulders and murmuring, ‘There, there.’

It was a curiously pleasant occupation. Hester Lattimer fitted very nicely on his lap, her weight a positive thing. She was not heavy, but not frail either. His free arm tightened slightly around a slender, strong frame. She must ride, or walk a lot, he decided. Against his thighs and his chest she was deliciously soft and her hair tickling his nose smelt of rosemary.

With a sudden defiant shake she sat up straight and met his eyes. ‘I am sorry, my lord, you must think me a poor thing indeed, and a foolish one at that, starting at shadows.’

‘You know, Hester, once you have reached the stage of sitting on a gentleman’s knee, I do feel the time for formality is past. Will you not call me Guy?’

She looked startled, producing yet another shade of gold in those fascinating eyes. ‘I could not possibly!’

‘Well, you are sitting on my lap. I think calling me by my given name is a minor informality compared to that.’

‘So I am! My lord…Guy…please let me go.’

‘But of course.’ He opened his arms wide and added wickedly, ‘A pity, I was enjoying it.’

Hester, on the point of scrambling to her feet with more haste than dignity, caught his eye and twinkled back. ‘So was I. What a truly shocking thing to admit, but you know, it was so nice to be looked after again, just for once.’

Guy found himself smiling as she sat down again next to him, arranging her skirts primly around her legs as she did so. She was enchanting. That frankness, the mischievous look in her eye. But she was, he would stake a thousand sovereigns on it, no hoyden or flirt. She was simply honest, impetuous and had sustained an unpleasant shock. Now was not the time to pursue that remark about being looked after, but he stored it away for later thought.

Her hands moved convulsively in her lap before she made an obvious effort to still them and sit calmly. ‘Thank you for running to my rescue twice in one morning, my lord. Guy.’

‘It is my pleasure. Will you not tell me what frightens you so much about that room?’

She hesitated, then said calmly, ‘I had better begin with a little history.’

‘You know the history of the house?’ Guy prided himself on his self-control, but the sharp question was out of his mouth before he could stop it and he cursed inwardly at the surprise on Hester’s face.

‘No, not at all. I was only going to explain that it has been empty, unoccupied for about fifty years. I was surprised, for it has been well kept up in all the essentials—the roof is sound, the windows have been cleaned from time to time and, from the evidence of the hearths, regular fires have been lit to keep the damp at bay. But no one has lived here—which I do not understand.’

‘Were you given no explanation when you bought it?’

‘None.’ She shook her head, a little line of puzzlement between her dark brows. ‘Sir Edward Nugent was ailing when he agreed to sell and my man of business dealt entirely with his agent. We asked, of course, but the reply was that he had chosen not to sell it, yet could not find a suitable tenant.’

‘That did not make you curious?’ It would have made him as suspicious as hell.

‘A little, but by all reports Sir Edward was somewhat reclusive and eccentric, so I assumed that accounted for it. And anyway, I wanted the house too much to be put off, despite the length of time the negotiations took.’

Damn it, he had only just missed buying it. If only he had known sooner what those old papers revealed. ‘Go on,’ Guy prompted, enjoying the concentration on Hester’s face as she recounted her story.

‘We were therefore not at all surprised to find the house in such a state. There was dust everywhere and an odd assortment of old-fashioned furniture.’

‘I suspect I saw most of it yesterday.’

‘Indeed,’ Hester agreed ruefully. ‘So much for attempting to look respectably established for callers! Anyway, although it was dirty, the house was tidy, with everything in its correct place. Except for that room.’ She nodded towards the dressing room door and Guy saw her go a little pale.

‘What did you find?’ He took her hand. Hester appeared not to notice. Under his light grip her pulse fluttered and raced.

‘It had been ransacked. The doors of the presses stood open with the drawers pulled clean out. A chair was overturned and the mirror smashed on the floor. A curtain was part torn down, as though by a clutching hand. The pearls were strewn everywhere and there was a torn nightgown by the door. And…’ Her voice trailed away.

‘And what?’ Guy pressed gently.

‘There was blood on the wall.’

It was not until his fingers closed tight on her wrist that Hester realised that Guy had been holding her hand. Now she had told the most shocking part of her tale she felt curiously better, half-expecting him to say it must have been some other stain, wine perhaps. She was not prepared for the suddenness with which his eyes went hard and the colour ebbed under his skin.

‘My lord?’

‘I am sorry. That must have been an unpleasant discovery indeed. Whereabouts is the stain?’ He released her and got to his feet, apparently recovered from whatever shock she had dealt him.

‘Jethro whitewashed over it. We put the room to rights and I have used this bedchamber for two nights now. I had thought myself quite sensible about it, certain there must be some innocent explanation. Until now.’

‘I am sure there is.’ Guy Westrope smiled at her. Surely it was only her overheated imagination that made it seem that the curve of his lips found no reassuring echo in his eyes. ‘Are you sure you are feeling all right now? I had better remove myself from your bedchamber before your companion returns and reads me a lecture on propriety.’

‘She would certainly do that, and me too, quite deservedly.’ Hester got up and joined him in the doorway. ‘Jethro is probably back with the shears and a proper ladder and wondering what on earth a horse is doing tethered at the gate and a gentleman’s hat and gloves lying on the path.’

‘An apparent mystery with a perfectly rational explanation, as I am sure the pearls will prove to have,’ Guy remarked, following her down the stairs and out of the front door. ‘No, no sign of your very junior butler; I may make my escape unremarked. Good day, Miss Lattimer.’

Hester watched as he bent to pick up his belongings from the path, put on his hat and gloves and led the patient horse across the road, then looked around her for some distraction from her disordered thoughts and emotions, none of which she had the slightest desire to examine just now.

‘Jethro! Where has the boy got to?’ Hester walked through the house to the back door, only to see him coming across the yard struggling under the weight of a long ladder with a pair of somewhat rusty shears pinned under his arm.

‘There you are,’ she said mildly. ‘Whatever kept you?’

‘Gentleman called.’ Jethro grounded the ladder with a grunt of relief. ‘He rode over from the fields and through the back gate into the yard. Said he was passing and wanted to know if you were receiving. I said not today because of the heavy luggage arriving, but I thought you might be at home after that. Was that all right, Miss Hester?’

‘Yes, of course. Who was he?’

‘Sir Lewis Nugent of Winterbourne Hall.’

‘He must be the son of Sir Edward who sold me the house and died soon afterwards.’

‘Must be, Miss Hester, he was wearing mourning. Good tailor,’ Jethro added critically, ‘but not as good as the earl’s. Mind you, his lordship has the figure for it.’

‘And doubtless the money,’ Hester retorted tartly. The less she thought about Guy Westrope’s admirable form, the better it would be. Quite how he had managed it she was not sure, but in the space of two days he had inveigled his way into her bedroom, had established first-name terms between them and had succeeded in mystifying her about his character and motives. The sooner she widened her social circle the better; perhaps Sir Lewis and his family would prove the means.

‘Jethro, you have not been in my dressing room this morning, have you?’

‘Certainly not, Miss Hester. Why, is something amiss?’

‘Those loose pearls are all over the floor again, but the bowl is still exactly where it was on the dressing table.’

She had been hoping that Jethro would immediately produce some convincing explanation, but all he did was stare at her, wide eyed. Eventually he said, ‘That’s strange, Miss Hester.’

‘Could anyone have got in? Perhaps a chance thief found his way up there, picked the pearls out of the bowl, then dropped them when he heard something.’ It was the only explanation she could think of other than the supernatural.

‘Suppose so.’ Jethro wrinkled his nose in thought. ‘Back door was open and Susan and Cluck…I mean, Miss Prudhome are out. Someone could have come in the back way while we were out the front.’

‘It would be a bold thief to do that. Oh dear.’ Hester sighed. ‘It seemed such a nice village. Now we will have to be suspicious and lock our doors. I must speak to Susan about it.’

Chapter Five

Miss Prudhome arrived back at the same time as the vicar’s wife called, so Hester had no opportunity to ask her about the pearls before she greeted her visitor. Mrs Bunting was as well rounded as her husband and equally as welcoming to the newcomers to her parish.

She settled in the front room in a rustle of skirts and beamed cheerfully on Hester and Prudy once the initial exchange of introductions and greetings was done with. ‘Now, my dear Miss Lattimer, I understand you require some respectable women to do the rough cleaning. I can thoroughly recommend Mrs Dalling and Mrs Stubbs. They are both widows; decent women who are bringing up their families by thrift and hard work.’

‘Then by all means I must follow your recommendation. May I offer you tea, Mrs Bunting?’

‘Thank you, Miss Lattimer. I will speak to both women when I leave you and ask them to call this afternoon, if that is convenient. I am glad to be able to say that the inhabitants of this village are as honest and hard-working as may be found anywhere. You have certainly found a most pleasant place to settle and I hope you find it so.’

Hester smiled back, delighted to have found approval from the vicar’s wife. She would go a long way to establish Hester’s credit in the neighbourhood. ‘I am so glad to hear that, Mrs Bunting. I had been somewhat concerned, for it seemed that someone had made their way into the house this morning.’

Prudy gave a squeak of alarm, then subsided with a nervous glance at Hester. Hester sighed inwardly; somehow she was going to have to teach Prudy to be a more self-assured companion and not keep nervously in the background as a proper governess must.

‘Oh dear, surely you are mistaken?’ Mrs Bunting looked quite amazed. ‘No one here would behave in such a way and I would have heard if there were any tramping fellows about. The churchwardens are very alert for that sort of thing, you know. The last thing they want is any vagrant settling in and attempting to claim parish support.’

‘Oh, it is a relief to have you say so.’ It was anything but. A sneak thief was a familiar London nuisance that could be guarded against. Now she was left with no explanation again—and no defence.

‘What made you think something was amiss?’ Mrs Bunting asked.

‘Perhaps it was nothing after all. It was just that some pearls that had been in a dish were scattered all over the floor and I could think of no other explanation,’ Hester said lightly.

‘Oh.’ Mrs Bunting looked both thoughtful and somewhat disturbed. ‘How very…odd. Has anything else out of the ordinary occurred?’

‘No.’ Hester was not going to describe the state of the dressing room again. ‘Nothing.’

‘Well, that’s all right then.’ The vicar’s wife looked relieved. ‘There will be a perfectly rational explanation.’ She sipped her tea, then added vaguely, ‘I never think it a good idea to listen to village gossip.’

Hester decided to ask right out. ‘Mrs Bunting, is there some rumour circulating about this house? Only the vicar said something that made me wonder, and now you mention village gossip.’

The older woman looked distressed and flustered. ‘My foolish tongue! It is inexcusable of me to alarm you. The villagers will talk so, but I am sure it is only because this house has been empty for so long. They tell a silly tale of blighted love or some such nonsense concerning the lady who last lived here. But that was such a long time ago.’ She fanned herself with her lace handkerchief and took another sip of tea. ‘There is a local story of the scent of roses—although how anyone could know I have no idea because Sir Edward Nugent never allowed anyone in except for his agent and the occasional workman.’

Hester shivered. She had smelt roses as she had entered the house for the first time—roses on a warm breeze in a cold airless room. ‘The garden is full of them, quite untamed and half-wild. There are even a few now with a flower or two despite the season. It is no wonder that the scent is noticeable here.’

‘A very sensible observation, my dear Miss Lattimer,’ Mrs Bunting remarked. ‘My husband and I have only been in the parish for four years so we know little of the earlier history. However, there has been talk of lights being seen here at night, quite recently. That seems to be a new rumour. I think it would be sensible to check all the window catches, just in case someone has started using it as a shelter. Although with you in occupation they would soon be scared away, I am sure.’

‘Yes,’ Hester said slowly. ‘That would be a wise precaution. How recently were the lights seen?’

Mrs Bunting cocked her head on one side and thought. ‘Two or three days before you arrived, that I heard of. But it will have been some tramping fellow I am sure, now long gone—or imagination.’

Hester turned the conversation and began to talk about the garden and her plans for it. In Mrs Bunting she found she had another enthusiast for horticulture and was soon overwhelmed by offers of plants and cuttings in the spring. ‘Thank you so much, ma’am, but I had better not accept anything until I have the front garden under control somewhat or I will have nowhere to put the plants. I suppose I should be concentrating on plans for the house, but I confess that I look to the garden to distract my eye from the Old Manor opposite.’

‘Hideous, my dear, I quite agree. And such a pity when one considers how perfectly charming the rest of the houses around the Green are. Even the humblest cottage has some picturesque merit to it.’

‘I wonder that a gentleman should wish to take it at such a time of year,’ Hester said, hoping that she was not sounding too interested.

‘Indeed!’ Mrs Bunting settled more comfortably into her chair, reminding Hester of a broody bantam sitting snugly on her nest. ‘After Boxing Day for the hunting, perhaps—but now? The villagers will have it that the earl is avoiding his creditors, but that must be nonsense, one only has to look at his horses to see he does not want for money.’

Hester thought of the casual way he spoke of not only buying her house, but resettling her wherever she wanted to go. No, Lord Buckland was not in want of a fortune. Naturally she could not tell Mrs Bunting this.

‘How long has he been here?’ She poured tea and placed the biscuits within reach.

‘Why, not much longer than you have yourself, Miss Lattimer. Three or four days before, I cannot quite recall.’ She began to tick off on her fingers. ‘He was not in church last Sunday, that I know. Mr Bunting called on him on Wednesday I think, in very heavy rain. Yes, I recall now. He arrived on Monday.’

Hester put her cup down with a little clatter. Lord Buckland had been in the village three days before she had arrived and during that time mysterious lights had been seen in the Moon House for the first time. She racked her memory for signs that anyone had been there, but the floors had been roughly swept in all the main rooms and there had been no betraying footprints in the dust. The dressing room had been unswept, of course. That had certainly not been entered—the dust had lain unmarked like grey snow.

Could he have been in the house? To what end? If, as it seemed, his purpose for staying in Winterbourne St Swithin was to persuade her to sell the Moon House, why should he need to enter it clandestinely and prowl about by candlelight? She did not like feeling this suspicion, it went against her instinctive liking for him.

Mrs Bunting was speaking again and Hester hastily composed her mind and her face and listened attentively. ‘…a small afternoon party only, you understand. Just the intimate circle of ladies in the village. We do not have a large social group actually in the village, although when one includes all the families in outlying houses and estates there is a not inconsiderable throng whenever someone holds a dance.

‘However, I am keeping it small because I hope to persuade Miss Nugent to attend. She is still in mourning, of course, it is only two months since her father died, but it will do her good to enjoy a little feminine company.’ She beamed at Hester. ‘Will you and Miss Prudhome be able to join us?’

‘Thank you, we would be delighted to. Um…which day did you say, I am afraid I did not quite catch…?’

‘Wednesday next week. At three. You cannot miss the vicarage, it is just up the lane next to the church.’

Shortly after she departed, leaving Hester prey to some very mixed emotions. It was excellent that she had been invited to Mrs Bunting’s At Home, for the sooner she met and began to mix with the local ladies, the sooner she would find her feet in this small community. And some more callers coming and going would certainly help to make visits by Lord Buckland less conspicuous. But the prospect of such an exclusively feminine society was somewhat daunting. She had become so used to male company. But repining about that was pointless. She had needed a new home, a home of her own, and it was up to her to make this a success and to learn to put the dangerous pleasures of masculine company out of her mind.

Prudy hovered anxiously, wringing her hands. ‘Oh, Hester dear, has there really been a burglar?’

‘I have no idea,’ Hester responded briskly. ‘But if there was, he’s gone now. We must just be careful of the doors.’ Prudy was still looking wretched. ‘What is it, Prudy?’

‘Did…did Mrs Bunting truly invite me as well?’

‘Yes, Prudy,’ Hester said firmly. ‘You are my lady companion, it is only proper that you go about with me. We will look at your gowns, I am sure one of the afternoon dresses we bought will do admirably.’

‘Thank you, Hester,’ the little woman responded, looking terrified.

What was I thinking of, employing her? Hester wondered, then reproved herself. A chaperon, however ineffectual, was essential; without one she would be socially unacceptable, and she knew only too well what that was like. ‘You will soon become familiar with local society,’ she said kindly. ‘And I would be so grateful if this afternoon you could look over the hampers of linen and make me an inventory. I am sure you will do a much better job of it than Susan,’ she added mendaciously, rewarded by the tremulous smile she received.

Once alone, there was nothing to distract her from her imaginings. Hester carried the tea tray out to the kitchen with an abstracted air, trying to convince herself that her qualms about his lordship were simply because of his mysterious desire to buy her house and not because she believed for a moment that he had been creeping about the place at night.

There was also the complication that he showed an alarming tendency to flirt with her and that she showed an even more worrying susceptibility to that flirting. She had even allowed herself to be held on his knee, for goodness’ sake! Only…he was so very attractive, and there was something in his expression when he looked at her that made her want to trust him. And he had only taken her on his knee to comfort her, hadn’t he?

‘Oh, bother men!’ She set the tray down with more force than judgement, setting the fragile cups jumping.