'You wicked, wicked wretch! I thought I should die back there. I do not know how I managed to
contain myself.'
'Are you unwell, Beatrice? Where is the pain?' Her speaking look made Harry laugh. 'No, I shall
not tease you. I thought Mr Burneck a most unusual man...'
'You must know that Solomon Burneck is well respected by the people of the four villages,'
Beatrice said, serious now. 'They believe him to be deeply religious.'
'From his habit of quoting the Bible, one supposes?' Harry looked thoughtful. 'It was all rubbish,
you know. Perhaps he does it for effect or...I sensed some deep resentment there beneath the
surface, did you? There is something about him, something that seems a trifle unusual, even
dangerous. Besides, it does rather beg the question of why such a man chooses to work for
Sywell, does it not? If he were truly religious he would surely have left Sywell's employ years
ago. Perhaps his master has some hold over him...' He frowned. 'What do you suppose he meant by
the curse of ages past being upon this place?'
'How can one know? There are many rumours and tales, but I do not know of a curse...though the
history of the Abbey has been bloody and violent, and many who have lived here have suffered
tragedy in their lives,' Beatrice said, suddenly realising how true that was. She recalled the feeling
that had come to her as they explored the ruins of the old barns and hovels and shivered. 'But Mr
Burneck is an odd man. No one truly knows him, except...I have recently learned that he has a
cousin, but she married years ago and lives in Northampton. He visits her from time to time, and
must presumably care for her. I believe she once worked for the Marquis, though many years
ago...'
Harry nodded, and looked thoughtful. 'Some form of blackmail perhaps? The cousin was Sywell's
mistress and Burneck stays to protect her reputation for fear of her husband's temper? No, it will
not wash, Beatrice. I doubt Sywell would even remember the woman was once his mistress, let
alone bother to blackmail her or his servant. No, I believe the man may have some deeper, secret,
more personal reason for his loyalty. Something that makes him stay no matter what his master
does...'
'Yes, perhaps...' Beatrice was struck by this, which she felt a little sinister. Solomon Burneck was
indeed a mystery. She had always been inclined to laugh at the tales told of the Marquis and his
evil ways, but now she was very certain that there was indeed something very strange about the
Abbey and its inhabitants. She shuddered as the coldness trickled down her spine and spread
through her body, then turned to Harry, needing to turn the conversation. 'But why are one's people
loyal? I have remarked it on more than one occasion. And Bellows has been as faithful to Papa...'
'But for far more reason,' Harry pointed out. 'Your father is a man anyone would respect and
indeed love.'
Beatrice smiled and nodded. She hugged his arm in a companionable way, and felt the chill of
horror leave her as her mind returned to normal, happy things.
After leaving Solomon Burneck, she had not let go of Harry's arm and Was finding it very pleasant
to walk in such close contact with him. It gave her a warm glow inside to know that Harry held
her father in such high regard.
'Yes, Papa is very lovable,' she said. 'I have been...' At that moment she saw Olivia and Lord
Dawlish approaching from the opposite direction and remembered that Harry was—or ought to be
—her sister's fiancé. She let go of his arm. 'Here is my sister...'
The four met, greeted each other with excited cries, then hurried inside the house to warm
themselves in front of the parlour fire, which was burning merrily.
'Did you find anything?' Olivia asked. 'We explored the herb gardens—and we walked in the
cloisters. We found an open door at the rear and no one was about, so ventured inside. It has the
most marvellous arched roof, Beatrice, really very beautiful, but it looks as if it has been used to
store broken furniture and rubbish these past years. I wanted to try exploring further into the main
building, but Lord Dawlish would not let me.'
'Might have been awkward if we had seen anyone,' Percy said. 'Private house, after all. Wouldn't
want anyone wandering into my house without a by your leave.'
'And the Marquis is so often drunk,' Beatrice said. 'You were very right, Lord Dawlish. Besides, I
doubt he would have hidden his wife's body in the house itself.'
'We saw nothing suspicious,' Harry said. 'But we could only cover so much ground, though we
walked as far as the lake and returned by another route. I think we need help if we are to succeed
in this search. There is still the monk's cemetery and the woods...'
'...the infirmary, which has been used for many years as stables,' Beatrice put in, 'and of course the
ruins of the church.' She smiled at Harry. 'Though there is not much more than one wall left
standing, I am afraid.'
'If I were going to hide a body,' Olivia said, 'I think I would choose the graveyard...'
'One more soul amongst so many?' Harry nodded. 'Yes, you may well be...' He broke off as the
door opened and Nan came in seeming flustered and obviously upset.
'So there you are,' she said, looking at Beatrice a little reproachfully. 'It was while you were all
out...I did not know what to do. Bellows had not yet lit the fire in here, and I dare not disturb your
father...'
'Whatever is wrong, Nan?' Beatrice looked at her in concern. It was seldom that her aunt's feathers
were this badly ruffled.
'He was most put out because I asked him to come back later but I really could not ask him in...'
Nan's worried gaze turned on Harry. 'A gentleman, my lord. He said he was looking for you, and
when I told him you were out he was...well, he was not polite.'
'What did this gentleman look like?' Harry asked, frowning. 'Pray describe him if you will.'
'He was shorter than you, my lord, and stout—and he had reddish hair cut straight about his ears,
in the manner of the Puritans of old.'
'The abominable Peregrine!' chorused Harry and Percy together.
'He insisted he should be allowed to wait, and was not best pleased when I told him he could not,'
Nan said, looking guilty. 'But I really could not spare the time to see to him. It was most
inconvenient.'
'So you sent him about his business,' Lord Dawlish said. 'Well done, ma'am!'
'The gentleman you speak of was my cousin.' Harry smiled at her reassuringly. 'Sir Peregrine
Quindon. Though what he is doing here, I cannot imagine.'
'Come to see if you're still alive,' Percy said with a knowing look. He tapped the side of his nose
with his forefinger. 'You may depend he heard the gossip in town, wanted to discover if he was
about to inherit your estates.'
'That is most unkind in you, Percy,' Harry murmured reproachfully. 'Peregrine is always most
concerned for my health. He never fails to ask me if I am feeling quite well, or to point out that I
am looking a little under the weather.'
Percy gave a snort of laughter. 'You may mock, Harry, but that cousin of yours cannot wait for you
to die so that he may step into your shoes. If I were you, I should get myself an heir—several of
&nbs
p; them. Nip his ambitions in the bud, before he begins to get ideas above his station.'
'You do not imagine that Peregrine means me harm?' Harry raised his brows. 'My very dear Percy,
you are letting your imagination run wild. My cousin is a bore, and not the most pleasant of
companions— but he is far too much of a coward, and of a righteous turn of mind, to do anything
violent. If he saw me drowning, he might turn away and pretend he had not seen, but he would not
murder me.'
'You are very sure, Harry?' Percy looked unconvinced and frowned.
Yes, I am,' Harry replied. He glanced at Nan. 'I must apologise for my cousin's behaviour, ma'am.
I know that Peregrine can be tiresome when he chooses.'
'Well, he was rude, Lord Ravensden, but I was more worried that I might have upset a friend of
yours.'
'You did exactly as you ought,' Harry reassured her with one of his most charming smiles. 'Tell
me, did my cousin say where he was going when he left here?'
'Took himself off to an inn, sir. He says he shall return later.' Nan looked to Beatrice for guidance.
'Am I supposed to provide dinner for him? Only we shall be needing more supplies...'
'Allow me to make some provision,' Harry said, glancing at Beatrice, his brows arched. 'My
family seems to have imposed itself on your good nature, and I really cannot allow this to
continue. With your permission, Beatrice, I shall go myself to Northampton in the carriage this
afternoon and bring back what we need.'
'I'll come with you,' Percy said. 'Good grief, yes. We must be eating you out of house and home,
Miss Roade, and Peregrine likes his food, none better.'
Beatrice could only smile and thank them for their thought, her cheeks a little warm. 'If you will
go, you must take some refreshment first,' she said. 'Excuse me, I shall go to the kitchen and see to
it at once.'
Beatrice arranged the silver brushes on the chest of drawers in what had been her mother's
bedroom, admiring the impressive Ravensden crest on the backs. She glanced around her. A fire
had been burning nonstop for several days now, and the room felt warm at last. The bed was made
up with fresh linen and well aired. Harry would take no harm here.
She had moved his possessions herself while he and Lord Dawlish were gone to Northampton.
This time she had accepted his offer of help with a good grace. She really had no choice. She
certainly could not feed so many guests. It had been difficult enough with one extra gentleman, but
it would be impossible with three.
She surveyed her efforts with satisfaction. The mellowed gleam of old wood was somehow
welcoming. This was undoubtedly the best bedchamber in the house, well furnished with a cheval
mirror, a handsome dressing-chest, an elegant day-bed and a writing bureau; it had indeed been
the heart of the house while Sarah Roade lived.
Harry would be comfortable here, and she could go back to her own room. It was not that she
minded sharing with her sister, just that she had been restless of late, unable to sleep and worried
that she might disturb Olivia.
Beatrice sighed as she gathered up her polishing cloths. Her heart and mind were much afflicted
by what had happened these past few days. The time she had spent with Harry that morning had
served only to make her realise how very much she liked him.
No, liking was not a strong enough word to describe her feelings for Harry Ravensden. This
feeling she had was very much more than friendship or even affection. She knew that no man had
ever stirred her senses as he did. She had only to look at him for her heart to leap wildly in her
breast, and the touch of his hand made her breathless, weak with longing. She longed for him to
kiss her as he had that night in the kitchen, to kiss her and go on kissing her, to take her to himself,
to his bed, to possess her utterly and make her his own.
Yet it was not only passion he aroused in her— yes, she did truly like him as well. He made her
laugh inside. She could share her thoughts with him as she never had with anyone, except
sometimes with her dear papa. A flicker of his eyelids, a quiver of his mouth—that generous, soft,
oh, so, kissable mouth!— and she would gladly have surrendered all.
How she wanted to feel his mouth on hers. Her body felt as if it were melting, as if she were
already a part of him and he of her.
No, this would not do! Her thoughts were immodest. She must not allow herself to dwell on that
wretched kiss. Harry was not hers to love and cherish.
How could she bear to see .him marry Olivia? Beatrice knew that she must stand aside, she must
let her sister choose whether or not she would have him—but if she did, Beatrice's own heart
would break.
Her wandering thoughts were recalled as she heard a man's voice in the hall below. It was loud
and complaining, and she knew at once that this must be the abominable Peregrine.
'Harry, you wretch!' she murmured to herself as she went down the stairs. How could he so name
his only cousin?
'Ah, there you are, my love,' said Nan, looking at her with relief as she reached the hall. 'As you
see, Sir Peregrine has returned...'
'How nice to see you, sir,' Beatrice said, smiling at him. Goodness! He did look very annoyed. 'I
am so sorry that no one was here to receive you this morning. My aunt was too busy for visitors—
but please, come into the parlour and warm yourself. It has turned colder of late and I dare say you
feel the chill.'
'And you are, madam?' Sir Peregrine's gaze narrowed sharply.
'I am Miss Roade. You are in my father's house, sir.'
'Is my cousin here? It is Ravensden I have called to see—and very inconvenient it was, chasing all
this way.'
'I fear Lord Ravensden has been called away,' Beatrice replied. 'He and Lord Dawlish will be
here soon.' She looked at her aunt. 'Nan, will you bring sherry and biscuits, please?'
'Yes, of course.' Nan went off, clearly relieved to be about her business.
'Come, sir. You must be frozen to the bone,' Beatrice said, leading the way into the parlour.
'Please be seated near the fire.'
She took a seat for herself in a worn leather wing chair to one side of the hearth, gesturing for him
to take its twin. Sir Peregrine ignored her invitation and stood in front of the fire, facing out into
the room so that she was forced to stare at his profile. He looked about him, clearly contemptuous
of all he saw: the shabby furniture, which was a hotchpotch of various styles and periods, worn
carpet, faded drapes. Beatrice had grown used to them, but his expression reminded her of how
poor her home must look to a stranger.
'It was kind of you to come all this way to see Lord Ravensden,' she said, feeling that some
attempt at polite conversation must be made.
Peregrine turned his baleful gaze on her. 'My duty. Only duty, Miss Roade. Lady Susanna
Ravensden, Harry's mother, came to see me in town. In quite a way. She had heard gossip.
Ridiculous, of course. I told her how it would be. I was sure nothing had happened to Ravensden,
and now you see I am right. It was a wasted journey, and in such weather!' He sounded
disgruntled... disappointed.
Beatrice was silent. She did not feel inclined to tell this man that Harry had been very ill for three
days.
'So...' Sir Peregrine gla
red at her. 'You are the sister of Miss Roade Burton—and this is her family
home.'
'Yes, sir. This is our home.'
'Quite a come-down for her. I dare say she regrets having jilted Ravensden now.'
Beatrice felt the anger rising inside her. How dare he say such a thing about Olivia? It was
despicable. She was not sure how she would have held her temper had the parlour door not
opened at that moment to admit Harry and Lord Dawlish.
'At last,' Sir Peregrine said, greeting his cousin with a jaundiced stare. 'I had almost given you up,
Ravensden.'
'Had you, Peregrine? How unfortunate.' Harry's brows rose. His manner was cool, reserved.
Beatrice was surprised. This was not the man she had come to know so intimately, but she
suspected that it might well be the Eighth Marquis of Ravensden. 'Had you notified me of your
intention, I might have saved you a tiresome journey. There was not the slightest need for you to
come down here.'
'I said as much to Lady Ravensden—but she would have it that something had happened to you.'
Sir Peregrine looked outraged. 'She very nearly accused me of having had a hand in your murder!
As if I would dream of such a thing. I hope I know what is due to you as the head of the family,
Ravensden.'
'I am perfectly sure you do, Peregrine—and I am just as sure that Mama meant nothing of the kind.
You know she sometimes gets carried away when she is upset,' Harry said, but there was no
laughter in his eyes, only a kind of hauteur. 'However, it was very good of you to concern yourself
—and now you may rest easy in your bed, Peregrine. As you see, I am perfectly healthy and
amongst friends.'
'Speaking of a bed...' Sir Peregrine frowned. 'The only decent inn in the district has nothing to
offer me. I trust you can put me up for the night.'
'This is not my house,' Harry said. For a moment something flickered in his eyes. Beatrice sensed
that he was very angry. 'But I believe there may be a spare room.'
Beatrice's eyes met Harry's. 'Do you mean the spare room?' He nodded and she almost laughed as
she saw the sudden quiver at the corner of his mouth. What was he thinking? The wicked creature!
To inflict such a punishment on his cousin! 'Reflect for a moment, my lord. What the probable
consequences of lodging Sir Peregrine in such a room might be...'