CHAPTER EIGHT

I muse over what I’ve heard on the drive back to the manor. I can now be certain that Sarah’s disappearance is not unique. I can also be reasonably sure that it was her screams I heard two nights ago. Oliver and I both heard those cries, and Theresa also suspects foul play. Lord Edmund’s dismissiveness of Theresa’s concerns combined with the townspeople’s suspicions of him identifies him as a suspect in her disappearance, and, I fear, her murder.

And this wasn’t the first time. Others have disappeared.

I realize my mistake and smack the steering wheel in frustration. I should have asked Gavin who else has gone missing. That would have given me somewhere else to look.

Then again, it’s not likely he would have talked to me. He seemed decidedly unhappy with the fact that I overheard his conversation with the fisherman, and once he learned who I was, he shut down completely. Lord Edmund must indeed be as formidable as Sean suggested. The people here are terrified of him.

I feel awful for not looking harder when I hear Sarah’s screams. I so easily dismiss them as a figment of my own imagination. If I’d kept searching after finding the basement empty, could I have found her, perhaps even saved her? Maybe not, but I might have at least learned what happened to her and taken steps to punish the guilty.

I have good reason to question my sanity, though. I’ve had trouble in the past with imagining things that aren’t true. My old nightmare of Annie consists of a vision of me waking in a forest lit by moonlight filtered through clouds. The trees are all bare of leaves. Annie wears a nightgown. Her skin is pale and almost translucent, and she is always facing away from me. When she turns to me, her eyes are gone, their empty sockets black holes that draw me inward until I wake screaming.

I haven’t had that nightmare in months, thank God. But when it occurred frequently, I would often imagine I saw that image in paintings or that I saw that ghostly vision of my sister watching me out of the corner of my eye. It got to a point at my last job where I would have blackouts of several hours and awake not remembering what happened and unaware of the passage of time.

I don’t admit this to anyone, but that’s part of the reason I let go of my sister’s mystery. The closer I get to an answer, the more damaging the toll on my psyche. When I lost her the first time, I spent eleven weeks involuntarily committed to a mental hospital. I remember almost nothing of my time there, but what I remember convinces me that it’s not an experience I care to repeat.

So it’s not too surprising that I believe the voice I hear calling for help the other night is a lingering remnant of the dream I have where my sister calls for help. I can’t be blamed for not looking into the call further.

Tell that to Sarah.

I sigh and run my hands through my hair. Then a rush of emotion takes me, and I smack the steering wheel again. Damn it, I wanted so much to return to normal work. I didn’t want to be involved in another mystery. I’ve gotten all the closure I need about Annie, and I’m too old to fight demons everywhere I go. I’m too old to chase ghosts.

But here I am again, the only person willing to chase that ghost, the only person willing to fight the demon. If there was someone else willing to fight for justice for Sarah and whoever else this house has claimed, maybe I could content myself with being a governess.

But until then, I must fight. Someone has to.

I reach the estate and park the car. I’m unsure where to go from here, but if I am committed to this mystery, I will be committed fully. Perhaps it’s time to talk to Theresa alone and insist that she tell me what’s going on in this house.

As I walk up the porch steps, I see something out of the corner of my eye. I glance up at a second-floor window, and my heart stops. Annie is staring at me from the window, the ghostly Annie of my nightmares. Her eyes are black holes, and they draw me inward where no light escapes.

I blink, and Annie is gone. In her place is the Lady Cordelia. A wave of relief washes over me, but that relief is short-lived when I take a closer look at her Ladyship.

Cordelia is fidgeting, tapping her thigh and turning her head from side to side in short, rapid tics. Her lips move, too, but I can't tell if she speaks aloud. I realize the longer I look that she is standing uncomfortably close to the window. The glass is closed, and the window itself is so recessed in the battlement that I feel it would be difficult if not impossible for her to accidentally fall through.

Still, the way she stands there twitching…

“Miss Wilcox?”

Lord Edmund’s voice startles me. I jump and cry out a little. When I meet his eyes, they are narrow and shooting icy glares my direction.

I stammer, “M… My apologies, L… Lord Edmund.”

“What the devil are you staring at?”

“I…”

I glance up at the window. Lady Cordelia isn’t there anymore. I look back at Lord Edmund. “Nothing, my Lord. I simply lost my head in the clouds for a moment.”

“Hmm.”

He holds my gaze for a moment, and I feel the ice from his gaze fill me, freezing me to the spot. He could kill me right now, and I would stand motionless until the deed was done.

“My wife’s health is poor,” he said. “She has a nervous affliction. It’s common in sensitive, high-born ladies.”

I swallow and suggest, “Perhaps some rest would do her well, my lord.” I’m not sure what else to say.

“She gets rest enough,” he replied. “And I am quite capable of caring for her.”

“Yes, my lord,” I say quickly. “Of course.”

“I’ll thank you to mind your business when it comes to her.”

“I… I had no intention of involving myself in your affairs, Lord Edmund.”

“Hmm.”

There is silence once more between us. My palms are sweaty, and my knees are beginning to shake. I wish desperately that Sean were in England right now. I would feel much safer knowing he could get to me within a few minutes if I needed him.

But he’s not hear, and it doesn’t matter what I wish. I am alone in this house, and as frightened as I am, I have every intention of involving myself in Lord Edmund’s affairs, no matter what the consequences to me. I am compelled to involve myself.

“I’m sure the maidservants have shared their superstitions with you regarding this house,” he continues. “Such legends occur in every old castle in Britain.”

“I’m sure they do, my lord.”

“You are, of course, too sensible to place any stock in them.”

“Of course, lord Edmund.”

“Hmm.” He bows stiffly. “Good day, Miss Wilcox.”

When he turns his eyes away from me, it’s like a hand releases my heart. I feel a wave of relief, but unfortunately for me, that relief brings courage with it. He passes me on his way to the garage, and I turn and call after him, “Lord Edmund?”

He stops, hesitating a moment before turning around. “Yes?”

“I’m concerned about Sarah. She hasn’t called yet. I worry that something may have happened to her. I’m sure her family is worried sick.”

I pay careful attention to his reaction as I say this. His reaction tells me nothing, mostly because he doesn’t react. His expression, bearing and tone of voice remain exactly as before when he replies, “I am looking into her whereabouts as we speak. You needn’t burden yourself with that.”

I bow. “Of course, my lord. Thank you.”

He doesn’t reply. He only turns and continues to the garage. I watch him walk and remain there watching until I see his car—a sedan that is far more luxurious and expensive than the minivan I drive earlier—pull onto the street and accelerate south.

I walk inside, feeling as though the shadow of the angel of death has just passed over me. He is heading south to Tarly. I wonder what he intends there? Will he visit the market? Will he ask Gavin if I was there and what I asked about?

I know this is paranoid, but Lord Edmund’s behavior has done little to convince me that the accusations against him are groundless. And then there’s poor Lady Cordelia. I understand a little better now the redness in her eyes and the exhaustion in her shoulders.

“Are you all right, Mary? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

I look up to see Theresa frowning at me with concern. I realize that I’ve been standing in the foyer for several minutes, lost in my own thoughts. I smile at her and say, “I’m all right. I just allowed my mind to run away with itself for a moment.” I hand her the bag of cleaning supplies.

Then I realize something important. “Where’s Oliver? Did he not go out with the Lady Cordelia earlier?”

“He did. They returned early because the poor lad was coughing too much to enjoy himself. I made him a warm broth and some chamomile tea. He’s in his room resting now.”

I sigh with relief, but also with heartache. I remember that his own mother died shortly after he was born. I don’t like to think that Lord Edmund would harm his own sister, but if he did, would he stop there?

Would he harm his nephew as well?

I am grateful when Theresa has chores for me to complete. I need to give my mind a break. As always happens when I stumble onto a mystery, I have found more questions than answers.

I fear that those answers will be even more frightening than the questions.