A Dreadful Splendor (14)

“Was she really that beautiful?” I asked, both of us still gazing up as if she might wink back.

“Oh yes.” His took out his handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth. “It’s hard to believe she’ll never have another birthday. It’s so unfair. I’ve lived to become a bag of wrinkles, and she, with all her youthful glow, is gone.” He went to the long windows at the end of the hall that overlooked the grounds.

I joined him, peering out at the scenery. A road curved uphill and through the forest at the edge of the lawn. Somerset Park’s land was vast.

Mr. Lockhart spoke again, but this time his voice was careful. “On the day of the wedding, Mrs. Donovan went with her breakfast tray, but Lady Audra’s room was empty. We went through the entire house calling her name. For the first hour we thought it was a joke. She liked to play tricks on the staff, you see. But then, as the time for the ceremony approached, and she still hadn’t appeared, we knew something was horribly wrong.”

There was a rustling sound from the far end of the room. I saw a wine bottle lying on its side.

Still staring out the window, he continued the story. “Then someone saw footprints in the mud leading from the manor. They continued to the cliff overlooking the shore.”

I peeked behind me at all the ancestors, half expecting them to be nodding along as Mr. Lockhart spoke. They stared back, unblinking, with their placid eyes and stiff, unsmiling lips.

“Her body was discovered two weeks later,” Mr. Lockhart said. “She was still in her nightdress, but it was soaked through with blood. Her face had been . . . well, the fall to the rocks, you understand.” The rest came out in broken sentences. “The tide can be violent . . . her body, rolling against the shore . . .” He ceased his desperate explanation to fumble with his handkerchief and press it against his eyes.

Any other time I would have put my hand on his shoulder and said that her spirit still lived on, but I thought he deserved a genuine reply. “I’m sorry her death hurts you,” I offered.

“She was as dear to me as if she were my own daughter. I’m truly sorry for those who never had the pleasure of knowing her sweet soul. Even though they will never feel the sadness of her absence, they will never know the joy of her presence.” He smiled, his eyes still bright with tears. “I confess, Miss Timmons, I find myself hoping that you really can contact our dearly departed angel. What a comfort that would give me.”

There was a snort from the end of the hall. A dark head of unruly hair rose from the last settee. The man stood, wobbling in place. He raised a wine bottle as if toasting us. “Our dearly departed angel,” he said. “How prettily you phrase it, Mr. Lockhart.”

He closed the distance between us, not even bothering to tuck in his shirt. His clothes looked like they had gone off and had a few fights at the local pub and lost. His chin was also in need of a shave.

Mr. Lockhart’s soft expression disappeared. “Miss Timmons, may I introduce William Sutterly. His late father was a valued labourer for Somerset, and after his tragic passing years ago, Lord Chadwick graciously took William as his ward.”

“Which means I’m allowed to stay, but I will never be considered family.” The man brushed a black wave of hair out of his bloodshot eyes. His features were handsome enough, and I guessed he was not yet twenty-five. But, although he was athletic in stature, his posture hinted at a more sedentary lifestyle of pleasures and selfish leisure.

“Upon my word, William,” Mr. Lockhart reprimanded. “Show at least the effort of moral aptitude in the presence of this lady.”

“I already know who our guest is.” Then his eyes traced the length of my dress from collar to hem, just as Mrs. Donovan had done last night. I did my best to keep my back straight. “Miss Genevieve Timmons,” he drawled. “Ghost mediator extraordinaire.”

I gave a quick nod, keeping my hands folded in front of me. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sutterly,” I said.

“I hope you are not too disinterested. Mr. Lockhart’s favourite pastime is prattling on about the family and giving ghost tours.” He stepped closer, regarding me. “I’m intrigued by your appearance,” he said. “Such black and perfectly formed curls. I know ladies’ maids who would kill for a chance to style such hair.”

“Surely not, sir.”

Mr. Lockhart stepped around William. “We are on our way to meet his lordship. We must not keep him waiting.”

“His lordship.” William rolled his eyes. “One day you’ll realize how disastrous it was to ever let him in this house.”

Under his white beard, Mr. Lockhart pressed his lips into a poorly disguised scowl. “You should change and have something to eat.”

“Always the voice of reason,” William replied. “What would the family do without you?” Then he gave an exaggerated bow as we passed. “Enjoy the rest of the tour,” he told me. “I can only imagine what it must have been like for you last night, staying in a large house with no idea which staircase to take or which door to open.”

I eyed the wine bottle on the floor and wondered if I had almost missed meeting him last night. He wasn’t alone either, as I recalled. “I will pay attention, thank you.”

“That would be wise,” he said. “It’s never too early to learn where the loose treads are. Sometimes bad things happen at Somerset when women roam unaccompanied.”