Old Lover's Ghost Read Free Page B

work.”
    “Excellent! A glass of claret sharpens the senses. And there is no hurry. Midnight is the best hour for communing with the beyond.”
    Lewis hung on his every word, already envisaging himself in a cape of similar design (though perhaps a red lining would be more dramatic), banishing ghosts from damsels’ castles and taking his reward in the ladies’ boudoirs. The Wainwrights were soon being introduced to an elegant, pretty, but troubled lady of middle years who was clutching a lace-edged handkerchief.
    Wainwright bowed over her bejewelled fingers and said in a low voice, “Fear not, Lady Merton, we shall clear up that past transgression that is troubling you. It was not entirely your fault.”
    She gasped in wonder and said, “I am so glad you are here, Mr. Wainwright.”
    Lord Merton heard her incredulous gasp and shot a narrow-eyed glance at the callers. He saw his mother staring fatuously at the man. What had the scoundrel said to Mama?
    Charity saw his annoyance. Oh, dear! It was to be one of those visits, where the man of the house disapproved of them. She was at pains to distract him.
    “What an interesting house, Lord Merton,” she said. “The façade is very old, I think?” She was relieved to observe that the interior had been modernized. No smoke emanated from the blazing grate of an Adam fireplace. Fine mahogany furnishings gleamed from a recent application of beeswax and turpentine. A pair of striped sofas were arranged by the grate. Around them stretched a vast room, done up in a style suitable to a noble home.
    Merton did the decent thing and behaved civilly to his mama’s guests. “Yes, the front and parts of the west wing survive from the fifteenth century. The place was pretty well destroyed by the Ironsides. We had Cromwell’s troopers billeted here in the 1600s. The Dechastelaines were Royalists.”
    “You are fortunate anything was left standing.”
    “We have the restoration of Charles II to thank for that. Our so-called ghost, Knagg, was one of the Cavaliers who was killed here, defending Keefer Hall. In the Armaments Room we have a yellow jerkin and a helmet allegedly belonging to the fellow who killed him. I daresay it was Knagg’s violent end that accounts for these ghost stories. That is what you folks hold to account for ghosts, is it not?”
    “Violent or tragic,” she said, noticing but not commenting on his many evasions: “so-called ghost,” “allegedly,” “I daresay,” “what you folks hold to account.” All this told her that Lord Merton was not a believer. “Papa will tell you the exact nature of his passing.”
    Merton shot her a look not a shade short of outright derision.
    Charity did not foam up in anger. It was not her way, but she did not back down either. “I take it our invitation does not have your approval, milord?”
    “If it amuses Mama ...” The old fool Wainwright, rigged up like a satellite of Satan in a morality play, could say what he liked without fear of contradiction as there was no proof to counter his story. “I personally place no credence in ghosts,” he said bluntly. “I have lived at Keefer Hall for thirty years without seeing any spirits or hearing the singing nun.”
    “Some are insensitive in that respect,” she replied, refusing to take offense, and immediately changed the subject. “I assume there was a priory hereabouts at one time, as you speak of the ghost of a nun.”
    “Yes, an offshoot of the monastery, as the priories usually were in the old days, I believe. Keefer Hall stands on the remains of an old Cistercian monastery. The cloisters still stand. The chapel, unfortunately, was looted by Cromwell. It is considered an excellent example of its sort. Whitewashed walls, the stained glass taken out, a plain black cross. We do not use it.”
    Lewis was bored with this sort of chat. Just like John to go talking history when he had this rare opportunity to broaden his horizons with some really interesting