Page 23 of More or Less a Countess
No, it wasn’t quite dark yet. It couldn’t be later than five o’clock, and the heavy rain that had been threatening all afternoon was still only a half-hearted drizzle. Violet bit her lip as she tried to decide what to do. Hyacinth would worry if she woke and found Violet gone, but surely it wouldn’t take more than an hour. She’d be back before Violet noticed she’d left, and really, there was nothing so dangerous in it. She’d take her lady’s maid, Bridget, with her, and there was the carriage, still standing in the drive, beckoning her, and Eddesley was nowhere to be seen…
Violet dashed back inside, exhilaration dancing along her nerve endings.
Fortune trulydidfavor the bold.
* * * *
Alas, fortune was far less kind to the faint of heart.
“I don’t think this is a good idea, miss.”
Violet rolled her eyes with irritation. “That’s the fourth time you’ve said that, Bridget. For goodness’ sake, it’s just a little rain.”
Bridget had been sitting with her nose pressed against the carriage window, but now she turned to Violet with a dark look. “It’s not the rain what’s troubling me, miss. It’s the ghosts.”
“Nonsense. There’s only one ghost. Stop exaggerating.”
“One ghost what’s lost ’er head, and her red striped dress all covered with blood and gore!”
“I know. It’ll make the most ghastly sketch.” Violet rubbed her hands together with relish. “I do hope she makes an appearance. I can draw her from imagination, but the sketch will be so much more authentic if we actually get to see her.”
Violet didn’t truly believe in ghosts, of course, but she did like the idea of headless specters haunting the alleyways of London, seeking revenge for the crimes committed against them. And anyway, she couldn’t resist teasing Bridget a bit.
“I don’t want to see her, the poor, headless thing! The dead should be left to rest.”
Violet was gathering up her drawing pencils and shoving them into the pockets of her cloak, but now she looked up to frown at Bridget. “Come now. Think how dull London would be if the dead didn’t make an appearance now and again. We need a ghost or two, Bridget, to keep things lively.”
Bridget drew in a shocked breath. “Oh, miss. Yer an odd one, but I never knew you to be a sinner before.”
“Sinner? How am I a sinner? I didn’t chop her head off, did I? Her husband did, and then he tried to hide her body in the lake. He’s the sinner, not me. Now, stop your fussing and take these extra pencils. Unless you’re so frightened you’d rather wait in the carriage?”
Bridget snatched the pencils and threw open the carriage door. “And let ye go out there alone? No. I know my duty, for all Lady Chase never said a word about chasing ghosts when she hired me. Don’t suppose yer coming with us, are ye, Harry?” she called to the coachman, shaking her head when he visibly blanched. “No, I dinna suppose so, ye coward. Well, come on then, miss.”
“You’re a loyal old thing, Bridget.” Violet hopped down from the carriage and led the way across the street toward Cockpit Steps, a dark, narrow passageway that connected Old Queen Street with Birdcage Walk. “Oh, this is so exciting! Our headless lady hasn’t made an appearance in quite some time, so perhaps she will tonight. It must be lonely, after all, being a headless ghost. No one to talk to, I daresay.”
Bridget snorted. “How much talking do ye suppose she can do without a head?”
“Yes, you’re quite right, Bridget. Being headlesswouldmake it more difficult.”
Violet didn’t expect to see any ghosts, headless or otherwise, but she couldn’t prevent her heart from sinking a little when all she found in the haunted passageway was an ordinary-looking curved staircase. “She’s not here.”
Bridget tiptoed up behind Violet, peeked around her, and, not seeing a headless ghost, let out a long sigh of relief. “Well, thank goodness fer that.”
“Certainly, if you’re satisfied with a dull sketch of a set of stairs.” Violet pulled her sketchbook from under her arm and flipped through it until she found a blank page. “Oh, well. I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to add her in myself, and Ihavebeen told I draw rather nice rectangles.”
What had Lord Dare said?I could tell at once it’s a headstone.
Despite herself, Violet’s lips curved into a rueful grin. She couldn’t deny Lord Dare was entertaining, though she wasn’t sure he meant to be. Oh, he was arrogant, too, intolerably so—only a gentleman very sure of his own charm persisted in calling on a lady who’d forbidden it—and yet one couldn’t accuse him of being dull. That shameless trick he’d pulled with Lady Uplands in Lord Derrick’s library had, after all, furnished Violet with enough material for a new chapter in her book, not to mention a truly exceptional drawing.
Her grin widened as she recalled what she’d overheard that evening. She was wicked to laugh, but every time she thought of the rhythmic thumping of Lady Uplands’s head against the bookshelf, she couldn’t stifle a giggle. Come to think on it, she hadn’t seen Lady Uplands since. It would be too bad if her ladyship had suffered a head injury—
“Did ye hear that, miss?” Bridget descended a few stairs and peeked around the corner. “I thought I ’eard a noise, like a gentleman shouting.”
“Oh, I’m certain there’s more than one drunken blackguard hovering about. We’re right near St. James’s Park, and of course we’re standing on the stairs that used to lead down to the Royal Cockpit, though that’s been gone for a year now, and good riddance to it, I say. I despise blood sports.”
Bridget hurried back up the stairs and tugged on Violet’s arm. “I tell ye, I hear footsteps, miss, and they’re getting louder! Hurry and finish, before a villain sets upon us.”
“You’d be happy enough to see the ghostnow, wouldn’t you, Bridget? She’d frighten any villains away quickly enough. But do stop tugging on my arm, will you? You’ll make me ruin my sketch, and I’ll have to start again—”
