Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(124)
Even so, they stomped up the stairs with dire mutterings that consisted of such words as “overbearing”, “chauvinistic” and “tyrannical” but still, they packed.
None of this affected Colin or Bertie in the slightest.
Colin went to Lacybourne while they packed, taking Bertie with him and coming back with the BMW and the Mercedes. They packed the cars to the brim with bags, pet supplies, the food that might spoil in the fridge and all were hauled to Lacybourne.
Then, as if the day couldn’t get worse, they arrived at Lacybourne to see it crowded with cars.
It was National Trust Saturday at Lacybourne Manor.
They dragged in their bags without incident, putting away the food and leaving the other luggage in the study which, since it was Colin’s personal office, was off-limits to National Trust visitors. Upon leaving again to head out to a late lunch, some of the tourists who’d been in the house stopped and gawked.
“Oh my gawd!” a large American woman with dyed-black hair and nicely tailored clothing shrieked. “It’s the couple from the portraits.”
“Brilliant,” Colin muttered, starting to assist Sibyl into the BMW and his tone stated he didn’t find it brilliant at all.
“I thought you were dead!” the woman yelled, striding forward quickly. “Inside, they said you were murdered… oh… my… gawd!” Her voice rose even further as she turned to a harried, embarrassed-looking man beside her. “They said they’d come back to life. Oh… my… gawd, Harold, look at them. They’ve been reincarnated!”
More people were now peering at them, some of them curiously, others, who had also been inside the house and seen the portraits, excitedly.
“Did you come to visit the portraits?” the woman asked.
“They live here,” Mags offered proudly.
Colin cursed eloquently under his breath and Sibyl’s eyes sent icicles shafting toward her mother.
“Oh… my… gawd,” the American woman breathed before shouting, “It’s magic!”
Colin practically shoved Sibyl into the BMW and once her feet cleared the door, he closed it cleanly and prowled to the other side while Mags, Bertie and Scarlett slid into the back.
Colin took them to the village next to Clevedon, to a lovely, small café nestled into pretty woods at the back of a garden centre. As the day stayed cold and misty, they were forced inside to sit amongst the brightly painted tables and gaily blinking fairy lights. The food there was delicious and, after they’d finished, Bertie cleared his throat.
“We’ve been talking and we’ve come to some decisions,” he announced and everyone’s eyes turned to him. “Scarlett and I have to get back but seeing as things are... well, the way they are,” he paused hesitantly before he let the bomb drop, “Mags feels she ought to stay.”
Sibyl looked at Colin who, she was surprised to see after the recent incident at Lacybourne, had no reaction whatsoever to this news.
Her gaze slid away from Colin and the rest of the family glanced at each other then finally Bertie asked, “If that’s all right with you, Colin.”
Colin looked first at Bertie then directly at Mags. “You’re welcome at Lacybourne for as long as you wish to stay.”
Mags beamed then instantly offered, “I’ll take the bedroom the farthest away. Give you both some privacy.”
Sibyl glanced at the ceiling, praying to the goddess for patience which, luckily, the goddess bestowed on her and the rest of the day went without incident.
* * * * *
Late in the evening, after their visit to Mrs. Byrne and Angie, dinner and everyone was in bed, Sibyl found (not surprisingly) she was unable to sleep. Listening to Colin’s even breathing, she gently slid out of his arms, out of bed and pulled on the plaid dressing gown her father had discarded years before but she’d saved from the Goodwill bag and she’d used ever since.
She stepped over Mallory whose body was twitching, running after something in his sleep that he would never chase when he was awake and went to stand by the window. In order to be quiet and not disturb Colin, she carefully opened the drapes and stared out into the moonless night. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light from the streetlamps that barely filtered through the heavy tree line and tall shrubbery at the edge of the estate.
She could see the outlines of the trees and thought of Royce and Beatrice dying hideous, bloody deaths somewhere out there hundreds of years ago.
She hadn’t been back to see Royce in her dreams in weeks. Now, she wished to go back, was desperate to go back so she could talk to him, warn him, tell him what awaited him and Beatrice. If she was able to convince him, she could stop the curse before it started. Even though she wanted it, her nights were dreamless and, it seemed, she realised with a heavy heart, Royce was lost to her.
“Sibyl, get away from the window.” Colin’s low voice startled her, she jumped and turned toward the bed.
“I didn’t know you were awake,” she whispered as if he was still asleep.
The covers snapped back, he knifed out of bed, took a great stride toward her (a distance that would take her at least three), snatched her wrist and yanked her back to the side of the bed. He then went to the window and slapped the curtains shut.
“What are you doing?” she asked, watching him.
“Has it occurred to you that someone out there wants to hurt you, me or both of us and standing by the window in the dead of night gives them a clean shot?” he asked in return, his tone sharp.