Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

P.C. frowned at him. "Sir, he owns that huge old castle on Piper's Hill—Storne Hope. He is the new Earl of Storne, the sixth earl, which means there were five earls before him who are now well dead. The fifth earl, his papa, fell off the roof of Storne Hope on New Year's Eve, ‘a right awful, wasteful thing,' the Great said. He fell right into the old moat. There was no water in it, naturally, since the moat dried up some four hundred years ago, and now there's this lovely drive in front of the house, so if you wish to quibble, he landed on his carriage drive."

When P.C. ran down, Brady said, "My papa said even though he knows the new earl, he wasn't invited to the old earl's funeral, it was only himself and his mama and all his tenant farmers who loved him. And the vicar, of course, because he had to give his dead lordship a proper send-off."

P.C. said, "Mama said the tenant farmers prayed the new earl would be as generous as the dead one. The Great finally agreed Grandmama could have a party at Wolffe Hall to welcome him. Grandmama promised me there'd be dancing. Brady, you will lead me out, and we will show everyone how to waltz properly."

Brady's eyes bugged. He looked faintly terrified. He only knew how to hop around, not this waltz business.

P.C. patted his arm. "I'll lead so you won't make an idiot of yourself and my judgment about marrying you would be questioned."

"I'll waltz with you too, P.C.," Pip announced. "I've practiced with Mary Beth."

P.C., sweet girl, gave his small hand a squeeze as she said, "Yes, Pip, you and I will whip Brady into shape. Sir, I asked Mama why the earl's ancestors named their castle Storne Hope, but she didn't know. The Great always says he knows everything, but I don't think he does. He tried to make something up, but Grandmama laughed at him. Do you know, sir?"

Grayson shook his head. "We'll ask Max—his new lordship." Grayson eyed those excited faces, dropped his voice. "Do you know what I thought when I first saw Storne Hope last spring after Pip and I moved here to Cowpen Dale?"

The children recognized Grayson's storytelling voice and gathered close, ready for him to scare them to their toes. And this story was true, for the most part.

His voice was smooth and deep, only a hint of menace. "It was twilight, the day cold, and so I stopped at the Black Goose. I met one of the Storne Hope tenant farmers, a grizzled old grandfather who told me over a pint, ‘The ancient monstrosity on Piper's Hill, Storne Hope, looks grand, sure enuf, but 'tis filled with shadows and gloom, but only in certain hallways and rooms because of where the ghost Lady Hilda roams. 'Tis said her hand hovers over a teacup, but she canna pick it up since she be a ghost, after all. Many claim she chased them down certain corridors, all flowy and white, sounds like a whistling winter wind comin' down the chimney. She runs down these particular hallways to flee from her husband, who eventually chased her down and murdered her.'

Pip ran his tongue over his lips. "If I were the new earl, I'd sleep in the stables."

P.C. leaned in close. "Why did her husband want to kill her, sir?"

"We will have to ask the new earl."

Brady said, "I wonder if she curses you, do you get boils all over that ooze pus and turn green?"

Grayson loved this audience. "A very dark green, oozing everywhere, yes."

"Tell us more, Papa."

Grayson thought for a moment, studied those eager faces—time to make up some gore. "Well, I remember one day last year something strange came over me, telling me to ride to Storne Hope. When I neared, I saw the sky was darkening over Piper's Hill and black clouds now hung low over the huge medieval castle as if they would shroud it, slither through the windows. Astor suddenly stopped, threw back his head and whinnied, tossed his head, and he wouldn't move another foot. I didn't want to move either, but I had no choice—you see, something was pushing me, what I don't know, and so I dismounted and left Astor there to eat the new early spring grass, but he didn't. It was like he turned to stone, as if someone or something had made him into a statue and was holding him in place. I left him and walked up the rise and over the former moat." Grayson paused. Three sets of eyes were fastened on his face.

P.C. whispered, "It couldn't be good, sir. Astor always loves to eat. What happened?"

"I walked to the set of massive medieval wooden doors all banded with steel, higher than two men standing on shoulders. It was then I realized I didn't see anyone, not a single gardener, not a stable hand, not a single living creature. I heard an owl hoot to its mate in the home wood, but nothing else, only dead silence."

"Not a single living creature, sir?" Brady's voice was a whisper of a sound.