Free Susan Carroll by Masquerade Page B

several seconds to realize Lucy had finished with
her hair. Sighing, Phaedra restored the figurine to its place on
the table. Taking one last glance at herself in the mirror, she set
off to do battle with her grandfather.
    Her petticoats rustling in time to her
militant step, Phaedra stalked toward the second-story landing.
Twin staircases of polished marble curved down to the floor below.
Running her hand along the delicately wrought gilt railing, Phaedra
descended into what she termed her grandfather's chamber of
horrors.
    The towering walls of the entrance hall were
of a deliberate bleakness, rough stone fancifully designed to
imitate the interior of an ancient castle. Shields splashed with
heraldic devices hung willy-nilly amidst a collection of medieval
weaponry. Broadswords, poleaxes, cinquedea daggers, and
halberds with wicked sharp-curving hooks now cheerfully jumbled
together, bore mute testimony to centuries of mayhem.
    If nothing else, however, the gloom-ridden
hall provided an excellent setting for Hester Searle. Phaedra saw
that the housekeeper had cornered the cook's two small children by
one of the suits of armor. Phaedra paused at the foot of the
stairs, clenching her jaw. Blast the woman. She was at it again,
indulging in another of her favorite malicious pastimes,
terrorizing poor Matthew and Jeannie. The little ones cowered in
the shadow of what must have seemed like a great metal giant in
their eyes. But surely no more terrifying than Madam Hester
herself, who crooked one finger gleefully toward the morning-star
mace suspended in the armored figure's iron-gauntleted fist.
    "And that was the very weapon, my dears, that
old Lethe used to dash out the brains of Lord Ewan's father."
    Jeannie squeaked, clutching her brother and
burying her face against his chubby arm. Although Matthew tried to
pretend he was not afraid, his eyes were as round as those of his
small sister.
    Phaedra stormed down the length of the hall
to put a stop to the gruesome tale, but Hester had already reached
her climax. Raising up both arms so that she resembled some
black-winged bird of prey, she said, "But they caught that wicked
murderer and hung him until his face turned blue with choking. So
take care, young'uns. They still say old Lethe rises from his grave
at midnight to carry off all bad children."
    "Hold your tongue, you wretched woman!"
Phaedra cried, but her intervention came too late. With a
frightened squeal, Matthew and Jeannie plunged past her skirts,
sobbing as they ran to seek their mamma. They would have nightmares
for a week, thought Phaedra as she fought down a strong urge to
slap the housekeeper.
    "Curse you! I told you I will not tolerate
your frightening the children with your horrid tales."
    Hester folded her hands demurely in front of
her. "But milady, the murder is part of the history of this house.
The little 'uns find it fascinating-as ye would yerself if ye would
ever permit me tell you all about it." Hester smiled, lowering her
voice to a soft purr. "The foul deed took place the year before ye
came here to be Lord Grantham's bride. Arranging the details of
your marriage contract, they was, Mr. Weylin, and Master Ewan's
papa, Lord Carleton-"
    "I am not interested."
    "The servants had been given a holiday. All
alone in the house were Mr. Sawyer and Lord Carleton or so they
fancied."
    "Be quiet!" Phaedra snapped. She could barely
restrain a shudder as she glanced at the heavy mace's pointed
spikes. She had no need of Hester's embellishments to imagine what
such a weapon might do to a man's skull. "Keep your ghoulish tale
for those as have a taste for such things. I'd best not ever see
you frightening Matthew and Jeannie."
    "Oh, aye, yer ladyship," Hester smirked,
dipping into a stiff-kneed curtsy. "You shan't catch me at it
again."
    Phaedra spun on her heel and walked away
before she was tempted to use the mace to perform its second
murder. When she reached the doors leading to the anteroom, Hester
called out,