Donna Fletcher Read online

  Chapter Seven

  The bright light of morning brought with it common sense, courage and sheer determination to Billie. She planned on making Radborne Manor her home. She wanted no arrogant ghost—or man—haunting her bedroom. And therein lay the problem.

  Was Maximillian Radborne an unsettled spirit or of human flesh and form?

  The thought plagued Billie as she settled herself at the trestle table in the kitchen for breakfast. Her sleep had been as fretful as she had predicted and an expected yawn attacked her.

  “Restless sleep, m’lady?” Matilda asked with sincere concern after placing a steaming cup of English tea in front of her.

  Billie nodded before inhaling the tempting scents of hot porridge liberally sprinkled with cinnamon and nutmeg and sweet rolls drizzled with honey. “I suppose my new home takes getting accustomed to.”

  Matilda poured herself a cup of tea and joined Billie. “You have traveled a good distance only two days past. Perhaps you would be wise to rest some.”

  Billie ignored her suggestion, though not intentionally. She felt the urge to explore and discover; to take the first step in solving the haunting or unhaunting of Radborne Manor.

  “Have you ever seen the ghost of Max Radborne?”

  Billie’s blunt question and the referral of Lord Maximillian Radborne as Max caused Matilda to choke on the tea she had just swallowed.

  Billie stood ready to assist her but an anxious wave of Matilda’s hand sent Billie back to her seat.

  “I upset you,” Billie said after Matilda had regained her composure.

  “It is just that—” Matilda paused and cast a nervous glance around the room. She whispered when she finally spoke. “I have never heard my lord referred to as” —again she hesitated before finishing— “Max.”

  Unconcerned by her improper reference to the lord of the manor, Billie continued. “Then you have never seen his ghost?”

  Matilda turned her question back on her. “Have you?”

  Billie brushed her fingers over her lips and thought about last night and the fleeting kiss. She shrugged.

  Matilda offered a suggestion. “If you feel the need to speak to someone about apparitions why don’t you visit with Vicar Bosworth?”

  Billie’s face brightened and she suddenly attacked her porridge with vigor. “An excellent suggestion, Matilda. Thank you.”

  “I’m glad I could help, m’lady. And if I might add . . . ?” She waited for permission to continue.

  “Please,” Billie urged. “I often sought advice from family and friends back home. I miss not having it freely given.”

  Matilda smiled in appreciation. “This village tends to overly enjoy recounting and creating tales and legends. And this house certainly lends itself to ghostly tales with its drafty rooms and intense shadows.”

  “Max did have a propensity for shadowy colors.”

  Matilda attempted to correct her. “Lord Radborne preferred the subdued.”

  Billie laughed and threw her arms out wide. “That’s about to change.”

  A brilliant grin spread across Matilda’s full face and lighted her wide, bright green eyes. “A challenge I have no doubt you are up to.”

  Billie stood after draining her last drop of tea from the blue flowered china cup. “I shall inquire in the village as to willing workers.”

  “A large enough purse and promised ale and you shouldn’t find yourself without volunteers,” Matilda offered.

  “I have heard that Bessie is the best seamstress in St. Clair.”

  “None better, my lady.”

  “Excellent,” Billie said. “My day is suddenly filled with errands. By this evening I will have workers hired. The house will bloom along with the first signs of spring.”

  Matilda’s generous grin followed Billie out of the room.

  “The carriage, please, Pembrooke,” Billie requested as the servant followed rapidly behind her into the large foyer.

  Pembrooke almost collided with her when she halted abruptly.

  “This foyer needs—” She spun around surveying it slowly.

  She stopped abruptly when she came face to face with the large gilt-framed mirror and the startling image of Maximillian Radborne reflected in it.

  Billie stood frozen. She stared wide-eyed and silent, looking up at him. He stood impeccably attired in tight buff-colored, wool breeches and waistcoat and a frock coat of a green so dark in color that it reminded Billie of the trees back home dressed in their evergreen winter finery.

  His arms were akimbo, his back rigid, his legs stiff and his face angry. “Leave my manor as it is, madam.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment against his powerful presence and warning. “You are not really here.”

  “I am right here, m’lady.”

  Her eyes flew open and rounded like soup saucers to stare at Pembrooke standing in front of the clear mirror.

  “Any other instructions before you leave for the village?” He held up her heather-colored spencer jacket that matched her dress.

  She slipped into it and the scoop bonnet that Pembrooke also held out to her. “Nothing further. Thank you, Pembrooke.”

  Billie was in the carriage and on her way, wondering quite simply if she was going insane.

  o0o

  The vicarage was a modest stone house with a low stone wall surrounding it. An iron gate creaked a rusty welcome to those who entered and a crushed shell walkway directed visitors to the front door. Ivy climbed the old stone around the door and up to the second-floor windows. A plain, iron ring knocker waited to announce callers and Billie reached out eagerly to make her presence known.

  Billie smiled with surprise and pleasure when Bessie answered the door.

  “Come in. Come in, m’lady,” she urged, ushering Billie into the narrow hallway and straight to the small receiving parlor off to the right.

  “Vicar Bosworth is with a parishioner. He’ll be but a moment. Please have a seat, m’lady, and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea.”

  Billie removed her bonnet, fluffing the unkempt curls around her face. “You work for the vicar?”

  “Laurel Smithers is the vicar’s housekeeper, but she’s on a holiday visiting her daughter and family over in St. Simon. I’m looking after the vicar until her return.”

  “And I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  Both women turned and smiled at Vicar Bosworth standing in the doorway.

  “I’m pleased that you have come to visit with me, Billie.”

  Bessie hurried out of the room with the promise of tea.

  “I must be honest with you, John. I came for a specific reason.”

  John’s smile was thoughtful and he entered the room with slow, measured strides that bespoke of confidence and consideration. He didn’t appear a physically strong man, yet his soft, calm demeanor gave one the sense of comfort and of an inner strength.

  He extended his hand to a grouping of chairs and tables beneath the lace-covered window. “Please have a seat and tell me what is troubling you.”

  She didn’t show her surprise at his astute observation of her disquietude. She did as he invited, sitting stiffly on the edge of the pale blue settee.

  He joined her and for an awkward moment silence reigned in the room until he reached out and gently took her hand in his. A soft reassuring squeeze reminded her of her concern.

  “Trust me, Billie, I will always be here for you.”

  Oddly enough Billie felt a rush of heat race through her and an overwhelming sense of protection settle over her. The vicar was no Lord Radborne in looks or strength, yet he possessed a quality the lord of the manor sorely lacked. Compassion.

  “Your friendship is a comfort to me, John.” She gently gripped his hand and found his warmth satisfying. She held on, not wanting to relinquish such closeness. It had been too long since she had shared a caring touch. She and her mother had hugged often and her uncle had been prone to giving her bear hugs on a daily basis. She missed sharing su
ch loving moments.

  “I am sure in time you will make many friends here among the villagers, though you must understand that you are the lady of the manor and will soon be engaged in visits with other gentry of the area.”

  Billie’s stubbornness surfaced. “My friends are mine to choose.”

  John peered at her over the wire rim of his spectacles. Tender concern shined in his eyes and he offered solace with a gentle squeeze to her hand. “The villagers themselves will expect certain behavior from you. It has been their way for centuries and they take pride in the lord and lady of the manor. I don’t think you would intentionally disappoint or hurt them by disregarding their customs.”

  “I would never do that, though I could use some tutoring in regards to being a lady of the manor.”

  John withdrew his hand from hers and raised both hands in playful defense. “That, I am afraid, is out of my realm of expertise.”

  “A suggestion, perhaps?”

  He thought seriously for a moment, pushing his glasses up along the bridge of his nose only to have them slide back down and rest nearer the tip. “Matilda, your housekeeper, would surely be able to tutor you in the proper etiquette.”

  Billie’s light laughter filled the quiet room and subsided with a shake of her head when she noticed the strange look on the vicar’s face.

  “Your suggestion is perfect,” she assured him. “As was Matilda’s when she suggested I seek your counsel concerning apparitions.”

  John’s brow furrowed in surprise. “You’ve seen Lord Radborne’s ghost?”

  “Lord help us,” Bessie cried from the doorway and the tray, heavy with china dishes, teapot and biscuits, began to rattle.

  The vicar stood and took the tray from Bessie, offering her a hasty reassurance and gently prodding her out the door. He brought the tray to the table in front of the settee and then returned to the door, closing it.

  Billie, accustomed to tending to her own needs, poured them each a cup of tea, handing one to the vicar as he took a seat beside her once again.

  “If gossip is anything here like it is in Nantucket, all of St. Clair will be debating by this evening as to whether I have seen the ghost or not.” Billie sipped her tea with a smile.

  “The villagers have speculated on the ghost of the manor since Lord Radborne’s death. Many have claimed to have seen him. Are you one of them?”

  Billie took no offense at his question. It was not asked with malice or suspicion, only with concern. “I think I have, yet I wonder if it is but an illusion brought on by stories and suggestions.”

  John sipped his tea and nodded thoughtfully. “You are wise to question.”

  Billie laughed. “But do I question my sanity or the apparition I may have seen?”

  “Think of what you have been through of late. You have traveled a great distance on your own, leaving the only home you have ever known. You arrive in a foreign land and immediately your head is filled with tales of a ghost. You take residence in a gloomy manor and—”

  He paused and stared at her. “Do you dream, Billie?”

  Billie sighed and rested her china cup and saucer on the silver tray. “I thought perhaps I was dreaming, but the kiss . . .”

  John looked at her oddly. “The kiss?”

  “Oh, dear,” she said and shook her head. “I had not planned on discussing the kiss with you.”

  He took her hand once again. “Perhaps you should. It obviously has disturbed you.”

  Feeling suddenly like a caged rabbit, Billie stood and walked to the window, keeping her back to the vicar. “Lord Radborne has appeared in my bedroom on two occasions. On one occasion he stole a fleeting kiss from me or at least I think he did. Perhaps it was all my imagination. My mother often told me that a man’s kiss could be unforgettable.”

  “Was his kiss unforgettable?” came the vicar’s soft reply.

  Billie stood looking out the window at Radborne Manor in the distance. “I’m not sure,” she answered honestly. “I don’t know if it was the kiss I remember or his supposedly ghostly presence.”

  The shivers ran over her as a cloud covered the sun, pitching the morning sky into a grayish gloom. She turned to speak with the vicar and stumbled against him, for he stood so close to her.

  John reached out and gently grabbed her arms, steadying her. “Do you wish him to visit?”

  “What an odd question,” she said, staring through his thick lenses that blurred the blue of his eyes.

  John directed her back to the settee. “Actually it is a pertinent question when you stop to think of how much your head was filled with tales of this ghost upon your arrival.”

  Billie gave thought to his suggestion. “Are you implying that my own curiosity conjured up this ghost?”

  “Coupled with your exhausted state, I would say that your apparition is a mere illusion caused by your own fears, curiosity, desires—”

  “Desires?” she queried, offended, and spoke without thinking. “I don’t desire a ghost. I prefer a man of flesh and blood, even-tempered, caring—a man such as yourself.”

  John averted his eyes, casting his glance to his boots, which were scuffed and in need of polish. “I-I did not mean th-that type of desire. I but meant your de-desire to build a future here.”

  “Oh,” was all Billie could say. She really had made a blunder this time. Or had she offered the truth to the vicar and herself? Had she found Lord Radborne desirable? His features were unquestionably handsome, his presence commanding. His kiss . . . Billie shivered, so briefly delivered and yet so unforgettable.

  “I should go,” Billie said, standing.

  The vicar stood with her. “If you need me, Billie, any time of the day or night, please send for me. I will come at once.”

  “And if you see the ghost of Radborne Manor, then what, John?”

  He took her hand once again and raised it to his lips. “Then I shall rescue you, my lady.” He brushed his lips across the back of her hand and briefly glanced at her with eyes filled with courage.

  Billie smiled like a young girl intent on impressing her first beau. “You would make a perfect lord of the manor.”

  John shook his head, pushed his glasses up on his nose and shook his head again. “Nonsense, I am but a simple vicar. A lord requires strength and wisdom beyond my capabilities.”

  “Do not underestimate yourself, John. You truly are a courageous man.”

  “You flatter me, m’lady.”

  “Billie,” she corrected with a grin. “I will not have you addressing me so formally.” She scooped her bonnet off the nearby chair and asked, “It is proper for you to call me Billie, isn’t it?”

  “No one will disapprove.”

  “Good,” she said, putting her bonnet on and tying the ribbons beneath her chin. “Now I am off to hire workers.”

  John scolded her softly. “I thought you intended to rest?”

  “I will retire early this evening. I promise,” she said with a smile so sweet and sincere that it brought a blushing grin to the vicar’s full cheeks.

  “You are making changes to the manor?” he asked, following her to the front door.

  “Necessary changes.”

  He opened the door and a rush of wind swept in so strong that they both turned their backs against the blustery, cold air.

  “Winter has yet to leave us,” he offered. “Perhaps the warmth of spring is a better time to begin work on the manor.”

  Billie adamantly disagreed. “Absolutely not. The manor is so drab and dull. It needs life and color added to it now. It will blossom with spring and burst into full richness with summer.”

  Thunder rumbled overhead as if in disagreement and Billie couldn’t help but look toward the manor in the distance. It stood foreboding, framed by the dark clouds that hovered in the gray sky. If offered no welcome, but instead warned all to stay away.

  “Remember, if you need me, Billie,” Vicar Bosworth said and with a faint bow he turned and disappeared into the house, closin
g the door behind him.

  Billie gathered her courage around her and hurried toward the village.

  o0o

  Late afternoon produced the thunderstorm that had been brewing since morning. Billie sat in a high-backed chair in the receiving parlor of the manor, her feet comfortably resting on a dark red ottoman with a lap blanket of midnight blue trimmed with a dark red fringe covering her legs.

  She had given in to Pembrooke’s insistence that she rest, attempting to act the proper lady of the manor. But she could still hear Pembrooke’s annoyed muttering when she requested that he bring her paper and pen so she could determine the necessary changes to the receiving parlor. She had hired workers and they were to begin as soon as she detailed what work she wanted done.

  “A visitor, m’lady,” Pembrooke announced, minus the pen and paper.

  “A friend,” Claudia Nickleton corrected, waltzing into the parlor in a flourish of periwinkle blue.

  Billie attempted to stand but Claudia waved her efforts off. “Stay where you are. You look positively comfortable.”

  Claudia joined her after handing over her cape, bonnet and gloves to Pembrooke. She made herself comfortable in the twin chair that sat opposite Billie.

  “You visited with John today.”

  Billie was uncertain how to respond. Claudia hadn’t asked a question. She had simply stated a fact.

  Claudia leaned closer and in a conspiratorial whisper said, “I am curious. John grows tongue-tied around women. I wondered how he fared with you. He is such a wonderful man, kind and considerate. He will make some lucky woman a good husband.”

  “Are you matchmaking, Claudia?”

  Claudia beamed proudly. “What else does a woman of my age have to look forward to?”

  “Finding a man for yourself. Age has no bearing on romance. One is never too old to fall in love.”

  “You are a romantic; how positively wonderful.” Claudia clapped her hands in delight. “John needs someone romantic. I truly believe that beneath that shy, pious exterior of his lurks a spirited, romantic man, far different from the man who inhabited this manor.”