Gatehaven Page 15

  “Well, just look at ya.” The young woman smiled at him from the doorway. “Awake and sittin’ up in bed, you are. Must be feeling better now.”

  “Yes. And I want to thank you for coming to my rescue, Miss—Miss—”

  “Miss Millie McGregor. And who might you be, sir?”

  He hesitated because he didn’t want to reveal his identity. His sister, Shannon, didn’t know he’d followed her to England. To tell who he really was to a perfect stranger was not a good idea.

  What should he call himself?

  He heard of an author named William Shakespeare. He would be William Spear.

  “My name is William Spear,” he said.

  “Where do you come from, Mr. Spear?”

  “The village of Rosslyn.”

  “Where be that place?”

  “In Scotland.”

  “Scotland? Me parents came from Scotland. But with your dark hair and those brown eyes, I never took ya for a Scot.”

  “My parents came from France.”

  “A Frenchy, are ya?” She smiled. “Well. That explains it then.”

  “I was riding a horse when I hit my head on a branch. I must have fallen off. Would you know what happened to my horse?”

  “Sure and I do. My uncle caught your horse. The animal be in our barn outside—watered, fed, and waiting for ya to get better. Your clothes and money bag be there in that chair by ya.” She motioned to the only chair in the room. “Can I be helping ya with anything else, sir?”

  “Yes. I would like a cup of water.”

  She whirled around. “I will go and fetch it then, right away now.”

  Peter was glad she was going for water. He was gladder still that she had left the room. He needed time to think. She was a distraction.

  He didn’t know why he told her he came from the village of Rosslyn, Scotland. It was another lie—and, of course, a sin. As a Christian, he didn’t approve of sin. He needed to repent. But when she asked from where he came, he hadn’t wanted to tell the truth. Rosslyn was the first town that came into his mind.

  Peter put his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. He felt weak, grabbing the nearest bedpost for support. The room turned around and around. He sat back down.

  He would sit there awhile, and tonight he would leave.

  Millie returned with a large container of water. She handed it to Peter.

  “Thank you, miss.” He turned up the tin mug and drank down gulp after gulp of water. When the tin was empty, he still felt thirsty. “My thirst is like a giant’s. Might I have another?”

  “You’ve been doin’ without water for a long while, sir. It’s no wonder you were in need of it. But it be too soon to drink more. We shall talk awhile. Then I’ll be going out and refilling your cup.” She looked away, and the skin on her face turned pink. “Later, I’ll bring ya a bucket—a bucket for personal use. Then I will leave you alone for a while. And after that, I’ll bring ya another bucket and a cloth so you can clean yourself.”

  “Could you bring the first bucket right now?” he asked.

  She blushed again. “Aye.”

  “Thank you. And might I ask you more questions?”

  “What do ya want to know?”

  “Who is the man that sometimes comes into my room with you? And where is he now?”

  “You are talking about me uncle, Devlin McGregor. Uncle Devlin be the carriage driver for a very rich man named Etienne Gabeau. My uncle stayed home from work when we first found ya in the woods, sir, and told a lie. He said he was ill when he wasn’t to help me care for ya. Still, we must have money in order to live. So he went back to work. Somebody had to. I lost me job.”

  “Where did you work, miss?”

  “At Gatehaven—for the earl—but no more. I worked as a downstairs maid, you see.” Millie touched his shoulder as if she was accustomed to doing it. “Now, who be Kate? You called out to her in your sleep many times since ya first came here.”

  “I have heard tales about the earl and pretty young women. Is that true?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  She shook her head and glanced away. “I should not be talking to ya about the earl. Uncle would not like it. I know much too much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The earl and the Frenchman be good friends.” She looked him in the eye, briefly, and then she looked away. “No, I cannot help ya, sir. My uncle could lose his job as the Frenchman’s driver, if I told ya what I know.”

  “I will tell you about Kate, if you will tell me about the earl. And I promise not to reveal what you say.”

  “Do ya truly promise?”

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GOOD ENOUGH THEN, sir.” Millie took a deep breath. “I guess if ya promise not to tell what I say, it should be all right to tell ya what I know.”

  Peter smiled, hoping to encourage her to continue.

  “The Frenchman’s name be Monsieur Etienne Gabeau, and he and the earl are friends. Uncle never wants them to know that I live here with me uncle. The earl fancies young women, ya see. I know it be true because— because—” She looked away again.

  “Because he tried to pursue you?” Ian finished for her.

  “Aye.”

  “What else?”

  “Me uncle drove a pretty young woman to Gatehaven once as a favor to the earl. The young woman never showed her sweet face in public again.”

  “What could have happened to her?”

  “I would not be knowing.” Millie looked at the floor for a moment. Then she lifted her head and smiled. “Now tell me about that Kate of yours.”

  Peter hated to tell another lie. He hadn’t found time to repent for the first one. But he couldn’t think of an alternative. And if he told Millie that Kate was his sweetheart, she might tell someone who would connect him to Shannon and Ian.

  “Kate is—Kate is my sister’s name,” he said.

  “Your sister?” Her warm smile widened. “Well glory be, that sounds good to me ears. I thought she might be your sweetheart.”

  Millie McGregor was interested in him as a man. Peter could see it in her smile—in her every gesture—and her earnest desire to please him. She was kind to him, and he would not stay long enough for her interest to turn to love.

  He would mount up and ride out as soon as Miss McGregor and her uncle were asleep, and he’d leave money for his keep. He also planned to leave a note, thanking them for their many kindnesses. But he wouldn’t tell them how to find him. Better that way.

  Later, Peter rode into the village. He would take a room at the inn. Tomorrow he would seek employment and see if he could find Ian.

  At dawn, Ian went up to his room to get a pen and paper. A few minutes later, he returned to his post in front of Shannon’s door and wrote letters to his parents and to Shannon’s. He didn’t want to alarm the Aimees any more than necessary until he learned more about what was going on at Gatehaven, and he didn’t plan to tell them that Peter was long overdue either. But he would tell them the truth—that their letters to Shannon weren’t reaching her. He also intended to suggest that henceforth, they send Shannon’s letters to him. He would give them to her, of course.

  He’d brought a small leather pouch with him from Scotland. He put his letters and the letter Shannon had written to her parents in the pouch. Later, he hoped to go to the village and mail them.

  Ian yawned. Then he stretched his tired limbs and yawned again. He’d had little rest on the previous night and would have liked nothing better than to go up to his room and go to sleep. Instead, he sat down again with his back to Shannon’s door and tried to relax.

  He’d only been there a moment or two when he felt a big jolt. He jumped. Someone had pushed the door against his back from the inside.

  “Open this door at once,” he heard the cook demand.

  Ian stepped away from the door and stood back against the wall.

  “The young lady wishes to break the fast,” the cook explained. �
��I must go out back to the kitchen house and prepare a meal.” The door opened a crack. “Please stand further away from the door, sir. The young lady is still in her bedchamber.”

  “Of course,” Ian said. “And tell her that I must go out for a while but will return. Then Miss Aimee and I can talk. Also tell her that Monsieur Gabeau will be gone for the entire day.”

  “Gone did you say?” the cook asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The cook stuck her head out the door and frowned at him. “Who told you that the Monsieur would be going away today?”

  “His driver—early this morning.”

  “Why am I the last to know these things?”

  “I cannot say, ma’am. But will you please tell Miss Aimee that I am leaving for a while to feed the vicar’s dog? But I will return shortly.”

  “I will tell her.” She opened the door all the way. “Now go. I must prepare a meal for the young woman.”

  Ian found some stale bread and sausages in the kitchen. He ate all the bread and a bit from one of the sausages. He wrapped all that was left of his morning meal in a white cloth he found in the kitchen and set out to feed Buster.

  Ian had a fondness for dogs and Buster in particular. But now that Gabeau’s driver had returned to work after a short absence, McGregor would expect to feed the vicar’s dog as part of his daily chores. However, Ian planned to request permission to continue feeding the animal until the vicar returned and hoped the Frenchman would agree to it.

  As soon as he finished feeding Buster, Ian took him out for a brisk walk. The air felt cool on Ian’s face, and after being set free from his wooden prison, Buster had never been more playful or more eager to please.

  Ian threw sticks, and Buster fetched them. He ran through wooded areas and down paths he’d never seen before—the dog at his side.

  Not far from Gatehaven, Buster ran ahead and started digging up something from the ground. Whatever the dog found must have been just below the surface. The hole didn’t look deep. Ian saw something white. Maybe Buster found a bone.

  He went over to see what the dog found so interesting. Before he reached the animal, Buster raced toward Ian, wagging his tail and holding a very large bone in this mouth.

  “What have you got there, boy?”

  Ian reached out to take the bone from him. Buster raced away as if he thought they were engaged in another game of throw and fetch.

  “Come back here, boy. I want to see that bone.”

  Out of breath and panting, Ian managed to catch up with the dog. He reached out and grabbed hold of the dog’s tail, knowing it would take a moment to settle Buster down.

  At last, Ian rubbed Buster’s head and scratched behind his ears in a way the animal liked. The dog seemed content to stay put. But he refused to open his mouth so Ian could take a look at the bone.

  He’d put the cloth with the rest of the sausages in it in the pocket of his jacket. He removed the cloth, took out one of the sausages, and held it just out of Buster’s reach.

  “If you want this, you must jump for it, boy.”

  The dog leaped for the sausage. When he did, the bone dropped to the ground. Buster ran off to eat the meat. Ian picked up the bone and studied it.

  The bone looked too large to come from a small animal. It must have come from a calf or a colt or—was he imagining things? Or could that be a human bone?

  Impossible. Had he lost his senses?

  Ian didn’t want to contemplate the possibility that the bone might have come from a human. Yet as loathsome as the thought seemed, shallow graves were a reality, and the words human bones kept racing through his brain.

  Ian wrapped his coat around the bone. It wouldn’t do for someone to see the bone until he knew what it was and where it came from.

  He went back and marked a tree near where the bone was found. Then he headed back to the vicar’s cottage to leave the dog. He hoped to have a conversation with Shannon. But he had no plans to mention the bone.

  Ian hurried upstairs and put his coat with the bone in it under his bed. Then he went down again and knocked at Shannon’s door. The plump, middle-aged cook opened the door. Her eyes were red. He wondered if she’d been crying because of what happened to her daughter.

  “And what would you be wanting?” she asked.

  “I would like to speak to Miss Aimee. Tell her Mr. Colquhoun is here.”

  “Miss Aimee cannot speak to you now.”

  “Yes, I can,” Shannon shouted from the bed. “I would be delighted to receive Mr. Colquhoun. Tell him to please come in.”

  “When I worked in London for Mrs. Preston, I was told the ways of the quality—warned that it was disgraceful for a young gentleman to come into a young lady’s bedroom.” The cook started to shut the door. “Go away.”

  “Don’t go away, Ian,” Shannon pleaded. “I can walk a little now.” She swung her legs around and sat on the side of the bed. “I will walk to the door.” She got up and limped toward him. “Mr. Colquhoun may carry me into the sitting room,” she explained to the cook. “We can talk there, can we not? The cook has weepy eyes today, poor lady.”

  “I disapprove of this,” the cook said as if fighting back tears.

  “You can join us in the sitting room if you care to do so.”

  The cook pulled a cloth from the pocket of her apron and wiped her eyes. “I—I”—she sniffed, wiping her eyes again—“I have a house to run. But I will tell you this, young man. I intend to keep a close watch on you. I will come to see what is going on in there when you least expect it—that I promise you. Be forewarned.”

  With that, the cook turned sharply and headed for the kitchen house out back. Ian’s heart went out to the woman as he carried Shannon into the sitting room.

  Shannon seemed unaware of the cook’s dilemma. If only Ian could let the older woman know that he knew what she was going through while shielding Shannon from the tragedy. Ian placed Shannon on the longest settee he saw, wrapping a gold silk cloth around her.

  “Oh, Ian,” Shannon said. “You spoil me so.”

  He gazed at her for a moment and smiled. “You are well worth the trouble, lass.” Then he pulled a straight-backed chair close to the settee. “You know that I care little for the earl, but he has a nice library. Have you thought about the topic we discussed in the earl’s library?”

  Shannon’s facial expression had been warm and welcoming since Ian carried her into the parlor. In an instant, the warmth faded, and her forehead wrinkled like it always did when she was displeased.

  “If you intend to say unkind things about the earl behind his back, Ian Colquhoun, I will not listen.” She lifted her chin and looked away.

  “I have no time to discuss the earl’s faults at the moment, lass. I was about to discuss those words I found in the Bible in the Book of Deuteronomy chapter eighteen.”

  “Are you saying that you learned their meaning?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But if you are willing to sit here in the sitting room while I pay a visit to Monsieur Gabeau’s library, I might be able to find some answers. Are you willing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good.” He smiled. “I will just go over and pull back the curtains. That way, you can enjoy a view of the garden while I visit his library.”

  “How thoughtful of you, Ian. Thank you.”

  He crossed his eyes and sent her a silly expression. “Nothing is too good for Miss Shannon Aimee.”

  “You are full of mirth this morning, are you not, Ian? But you could always make me laugh—no matter what dire situation I might be in.” She gazed out to the Frenchman’s garden. “And the flowers outside that window are beautiful.”

  “Just keep looking at the garden. I will return shortly.”

  Ian went right into the library and began searching. He found several books with strange titles that he planned to read later. He took a pen and a sheet of paper from a desk and wrote down the titles. Other Gods, he wrote. The Masters of Babylon, and finally
, She Gods of Old.

  Clearly Gabeau was a beast, but he certainly had a well-stocked library. What better way to acquaint himself with Etienne Gabeau’s interests than to read his books? If only he could find a book on the meaning of words.

  He was returning the last of the three volumes when a small book fell from the shelf, landing at his feet. He hadn’t noticed the book earlier, and he reached down and picked it up.

  Words and Their Meanings.

  Ian smiled. This was the book he was hoping to find. He opened the book and looked down. A notation had been written on the title page.

  To my friend, Leon Picard—seeker of dark mysteries and a faithful follower of the illuminated one. May you return to Rosslyn soon and visit our group again.

  Ian swallowed. Leon Picard? Who was he? Was he one of the Frenchman’s evil friends? And why would either of them engage in heathen practices forbidden by the church and the Bible? What were the dark mysteries mentioned in the notation? Were these evil men perhaps wizards? And did they consult with familiar spirits?

  Another thought crossed his mind. What if Leon Picard and Etienne Gabeau were one and the same person? It seemed unlikely. Yet why else would the Frenchman own a book dedicated to another man? He thought he knew the answer but didn’t wish to dwell on it.

  Maybe the earl and his family learned about Rosslyn from Leon Picard instead of the other way around. It sounded logical, considering what he now knew about the Frenchman and the earl. It was all beginning to fit together like an enormous puzzle.

  He’d written down a list of words that he found in the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter eighteen, and he planned to search for their meanings. But first he would join Shannon in the sitting room. He wanted to share this new knowledge with her.

  Her eyelids were closed. Ian didn’t want to wake her, and turned to leave the room. A loose board in the planked floor creaked.

  Shannon opened her emerald eyes. “Ian, you’re back.” She smiled. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long.” He ambled toward the chair next to the settee she lounged on. “I did not want to wake you.”