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Authors: Barbara Monajem
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house.”
Richard shrugged. “Until I find the necklace, I have no choice.”
The vicar said his goodbyes and ambled away, tut-tutting. “Far too attractive for a governess,” he murmured well before he was out of earshot, “widow or not.”
Edwina felt the blush rise up her cheeks.
“I told him you were pretty for a widow,” John said. “I think he came to see for himself.” He tugged open one of the huge doors, which creaked in protest, and went inside.
How embarrassing. She hadn’t thought about this aspect of her presence. People might see it as improper—a young, attractive widow being too much of a temptation for a virile man. Richard had probably advertised for a widow to avoid the possibility of compromising an unmarried lady, expecting an older woman who wouldn’t be seen as a prospect for dalliance.
As if there wasn’t already enough to worry about, now she must fear being thought Richard’s mistress. She stormed into the house.
“Let them think what they like,” Richard said indifferently.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” she snapped. “Why did you have to get rid of your gamekeeper?”
“Because he took bribes in return for access to the house while it was empty,” Richard said. “That’s how so many of the treasure seekers got into the cellars. If he’d driven them off in the first place, we mightn’t have had this problem, but now the villagers don’t discourage it because it brings them some income. Ordinarily, I would have many of them in my employ, but the ghost has frightened them away. I can’t blame them for making a little extra any way they can.”
“You’re very forgiving,” Edwina said.
“They’re my villagers,” he said. “My responsibility. If I can’t take care of them, what choice do they have but to shift for themselves?”
Edwina found plenty to occupy her for the rest of the day, what with mending torn clothing and continuing the children’s lessons—blissfully nothing to do with curses or ghosts, although John’s predicament weighed heavily on her mind. Meanwhile, Richard went through every nook and cranny of three rooms on the first floor of the sinister wing, searching for secret spaces. He found only one—a priest’s hole that had been added in the seventeen hundreds, about which he already knew. “Tomorrow we’ll do another three,” he said at dinner. “John, you can help me. Perhaps Lizzie and Mrs. White can try the attics. We’ve been through them once, but another search wouldn’t hurt.”
“The attics are full of old things. We can bring down costumes for dressing up,” Lizzie said. “Oh! May we dance this evening, Papa?”
After a gasp of a silence, Richard said, “Why not, if Mrs. White will be so kind as to play for us?”
“I should be happy to,” Edwina said, which wasn’t entirely true. While she stayed in close proximity to Richard Ballister, unwelcome memories were bound to intrude, but she mustn’t let them get in her way.
In due course she found herself seated at the pianoforte in the portrait gallery. Richard had lit several branches of candles, a contrast to the utter blackness outside the leaded windows. A posturing gentleman with a beard and a vast lace collar glared at her from a huge painting high on the wall.
“That’s Sir Joshua,” John said. “Don’t you think he looks the murderous sort?”
“No, he just looks conceited,” Edwina said. “Is the lady in the next portrait his wife?”
“His second wife,” Richard said. “If there was a portrait of his first wife, he destroyed it.”
The second wife’s collar was lacier than Sir Joshua’s and decorated with pearls. She gazed calmly into the distance, the perfect, elegant wife—much like what Edwina had been to Harold White. How had she felt, Edwina wondered, knowing that her husband might be a murderer? Harold hadn’t killed anyone, as far as Edwina knew, but he’d been a selfish, unscrupulous man. She’d learned soon enough
Richard shrugged. “Until I find the necklace, I have no choice.”
The vicar said his goodbyes and ambled away, tut-tutting. “Far too attractive for a governess,” he murmured well before he was out of earshot, “widow or not.”
Edwina felt the blush rise up her cheeks.
“I told him you were pretty for a widow,” John said. “I think he came to see for himself.” He tugged open one of the huge doors, which creaked in protest, and went inside.
How embarrassing. She hadn’t thought about this aspect of her presence. People might see it as improper—a young, attractive widow being too much of a temptation for a virile man. Richard had probably advertised for a widow to avoid the possibility of compromising an unmarried lady, expecting an older woman who wouldn’t be seen as a prospect for dalliance.
As if there wasn’t already enough to worry about, now she must fear being thought Richard’s mistress. She stormed into the house.
“Let them think what they like,” Richard said indifferently.
“I don’t have much choice, do I?” she snapped. “Why did you have to get rid of your gamekeeper?”
“Because he took bribes in return for access to the house while it was empty,” Richard said. “That’s how so many of the treasure seekers got into the cellars. If he’d driven them off in the first place, we mightn’t have had this problem, but now the villagers don’t discourage it because it brings them some income. Ordinarily, I would have many of them in my employ, but the ghost has frightened them away. I can’t blame them for making a little extra any way they can.”
“You’re very forgiving,” Edwina said.
“They’re my villagers,” he said. “My responsibility. If I can’t take care of them, what choice do they have but to shift for themselves?”
Edwina found plenty to occupy her for the rest of the day, what with mending torn clothing and continuing the children’s lessons—blissfully nothing to do with curses or ghosts, although John’s predicament weighed heavily on her mind. Meanwhile, Richard went through every nook and cranny of three rooms on the first floor of the sinister wing, searching for secret spaces. He found only one—a priest’s hole that had been added in the seventeen hundreds, about which he already knew. “Tomorrow we’ll do another three,” he said at dinner. “John, you can help me. Perhaps Lizzie and Mrs. White can try the attics. We’ve been through them once, but another search wouldn’t hurt.”
“The attics are full of old things. We can bring down costumes for dressing up,” Lizzie said. “Oh! May we dance this evening, Papa?”
After a gasp of a silence, Richard said, “Why not, if Mrs. White will be so kind as to play for us?”
“I should be happy to,” Edwina said, which wasn’t entirely true. While she stayed in close proximity to Richard Ballister, unwelcome memories were bound to intrude, but she mustn’t let them get in her way.
In due course she found herself seated at the pianoforte in the portrait gallery. Richard had lit several branches of candles, a contrast to the utter blackness outside the leaded windows. A posturing gentleman with a beard and a vast lace collar glared at her from a huge painting high on the wall.
“That’s Sir Joshua,” John said. “Don’t you think he looks the murderous sort?”
“No, he just looks conceited,” Edwina said. “Is the lady in the next portrait his wife?”
“His second wife,” Richard said. “If there was a portrait of his first wife, he destroyed it.”
The second wife’s collar was lacier than Sir Joshua’s and decorated with pearls. She gazed calmly into the distance, the perfect, elegant wife—much like what Edwina had been to Harold White. How had she felt, Edwina wondered, knowing that her husband might be a murderer? Harold hadn’t killed anyone, as far as Edwina knew, but he’d been a selfish, unscrupulous man. She’d learned soon enough
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