Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

Max said, "Yes, something is very wrong. Let's go to the drawing room. My study is too drab and depressing at the moment."

Flowers double-stepped up the wide staircase to open the tall white door to the drawing room. He was panting only a bit and bowed them into a large rectangular room, no vestiges of medieval left here. It was painted stark white and filled with light from the large windows. Grayson stared at incredible rococo frescos painted on the white walls. They gave the illusion of motion—you were walking in a garden or playing with musicians or singing in an opera, frolicking with Harlequin and Columbine in Venice in the sixteenth century. There was an abundance of ornamental scrolling on white columns and exquisite sculpted molding—all dramatic, a bit too dramatic for Grayson's taste. How could the former earl suffer melancholia in this vivid setting? The ancient stone fireplace had been replaced with Carrara marble and more fluid intricate scrolling. Grayson would have preferred the medieval stone fireplace that called forth images of thirteenth-century King John drunk as a loon, throwing a golden goblet into the flames.

He was silent a moment, letting the Baroque atmosphere sink in. It seemed to him a honey scent was wafting through several large open windows. Sweetness filled the air. It also seemed to Grayson the frescos seemed to grow more animated as he looked at them—a couple moving about along the edge of a smooth body of water, the man's hand on the lady's arm. Suddenly, he jerked her forward and flung her into the water.

Grayson blinked, stepped back, looked again at the fresco. The man walked with the woman, his hand on her arm—there was no violence, merely two lovers casually strolling by a lake. He shook his head at himself. His imagination was running rampant.

Flowers said in a grand voice from the doorway, "I bring you tea and scones from the hands of Mrs. Flowers, my lord. Of course she kissed one of the scones for you just as she did when you were a lad, and now, just as then, you will have to guess which one."

Max said under his breath, "I always guess aright because she presses her thumb in the dough on the underside. Please sit down, Grayson."

When Grayson had settled himself on a very old green brocade sofa, Max facing him, Max picked up one scone after the other. "Ah, here's the kissed scone. See the small imprint? You may have it. I'm assured it's always the best one and brings good luck. Mrs. Flowers said your cook, Mrs. Elvan, told her you prefer your tea with only a dollop of milk and nothing else." Max handed him a cup.

Grayson nodded his thanks and waited.

After a moment, Max set his cup on the marquetry table beside his chair, sat forward, his elbows on his thighs. "Do you know about our resident ghost, Lady Hilda?"

"Everyone in the area knows all about Lady Hilda, although from what I'm told few have actually seen her."

"I've never seen her, and I grew up here. My friends would spend the night here and we'd roam the rooms and halls calling for her. No luck. I came to accept she was nothing more than an amusing legend.

"My father said he thought he saw her once from the corner of his eye when he was walking along a side corridor in the east wing, but then he just laughed, blamed it on the luncheon oysters. My mother never saw her either." Max paused a moment, searched Grayson's face. He drew a deep breath. "Lady Hilda came to Crispin some time in the night to warn her." And he repeated her words. A sweet, clever girl. Evil is coming. For you.

Grayson set his teacup down. "The person you brought here to Storne Hope with you, this is Crispin?"

Max nodded. "Yes, sorry, let me give you a bit of background. She's a little girl I found hiding under a pile of shirts in my armoire in the London house two weeks ago. I knew she'd run away, but from whom she wouldn't tell me. She also refused to give me her name. Crispin came out of her mouth when I asked her. Even now she still won't tell me who she really is, and so I call her Crispin Smith. Even though I don't know many children, I realized immediately she was very smart, such wit in a child. I was amazed. She's brave, Grayson, and she has more optimism than even I had at eighteen. My mother believes she can't be more than seven or eight years old."

Grayson said, "You made no inquiries?"

Max shook his head. "This is why. My mother told me she went into the bathing room when Crispin was washing and saw welts on the child's back. She backed out quickly so Crispin never saw her, but she told me. This beautiful child—someone beat her, Grayson.

"I know she must be a member of one of the families in Holland Square, and that means her family is old and rich and highly placed in society. I couldn't take the chance of questioning my neighbors for fear they'd demand to have her back. I decided to remove her from London and bring her to Storne Hope to hide her, to keep her safe. But now with the appearance of Lady Hilda and her warning, I realize I have to accept this is something far different from what I believed. I knew I either had to remove her from England or call on you to help us." He paused, then, "She's afraid because she told me he always found her, always, no matter where she hid from him. She said he pretends to be human, but he's not. So, a demon? A spirit? To be honest, I don't know what to think." Max shrugged. "When I say it aloud, it makes me want to commit myself to an asylum. I mean, to imagine a malevolent being living in Holland Square, someone—a man, a woman—someone I speak to many days, someone I've very probably dined with, and what?

"It's bad enough to believe one of these people would beat an innocent child, but to accept this individual is from another realm? I wouldn't have considered such a thing even though I knew you were special, Grayson, even back at Oxford. You knew things none of the rest of us did. You saw things we couldn't see.

"But what changed my mind is Lady Hilda. She came to warn her. Crispin knew nothing about our supposed resident ghost, but Lady Hilda came to her in the night to warn her. So yes, I have to believe this evil Crispin managed to escape in London is coming to Storne Hope. And this evil wants this little girl back. I must know who he is so I may kill him. I'm asking you to speak to Crispin, see if you can convince her to tell you what she ran away from."

Grayson took a sip of his tea, regarded his friend. Of course Max didn't want to believe anything he'd said about an otherworldly being, but now he couldn't deny it. His struggle to believe in the evil, his acceptance, was what convinced Grayson. "I'll do what I can, Max."