Free Sandra Heath by The Haunting of Henrietta

hour, and then Russell asked Marcus if he had encountered Henrietta at the ball.
    “Yes, I came face-to-face with the future Lady Sutherton. There was no bloodshed, so you may rest easy.”
    “I think it’s a damned shame she’s marrying that maggot Sutherton.”
    “Like cleaves to like.”
    Russell was taken aback. “I say, that’s a little strong, isn’t it?”
    “No.”
    Russell put down his cue. “I think it’s about time you explained. What exactly happened between you two?”
    Marcus hesitated and then placed his cue on the table as well. “I met her at a masked ball at Devonshire House last summer. I’d managed to ascertain who she was, but because she was a Courtenay I fear I introduced myself under a false name. Look, I really don’t want to talk about it. Suffice it that the whole sorry business is over now.”
    “How much of a sorry business was it?”
    “That is none of your business,” Marcus replied with a disarming smile.
    “I have no doubt she’s confided in Charlotte,” Russell suggested, hoping to prompt an explanation after all.
    “If she has, you may be sure it won’t be the truth. Henrietta Courtenay is not at all likely to confess how entirely without merit her conduct was. As far as I am concerned, she and Sutherton richly deserve each other Now then, is it my turn?”
    Russell yawned and stretched. “I have no idea. To be truthful, I’m tired at last.”
    As they left the billiard room, Henrietta was asleep in her room at the end of the second floor on the north wing. It wasn’t the most sumptuous guest chamber in the abbey, but it was her favorite because it had a view inland over the formal gardens toward the high moors. Firelight danced gently over the pink silk walls and caught the shadows in the exposed stonework around the arched door. The hangings of the four-posted bed were silver brocade, fringed and tasseled in gold, and the scent of roses hung in the air from the opened potpourri in the hearth.
    After the upset of Marcus’ arrival, she hadn’t expected to sleep at all, but her head had hardly touched the pillow before she was lost in troubled dreams filled with threats from Marcus that he would tell the world how loose her conduct had been in London. She tossed as she slept, but didn’t hear the door softly open. A shadowy figure crept in. Cloaked and hooded, it moved stealthily to the dressing table, where Henrietta’s jewelry box stood among the clutter of ribbon stands, brushes, combs, scent bottles, and pin bowls. The figure reached out to the box, then paused as Henrietta turned restlessly in the bed.
    In the meantime Rowley’s hunt for sugared almonds had led him to the passage to Henrietta’s room. He ambled along the ceiling, saw the cloaked figure, and followed. Suspended from the ceiling close to the silver brocade bed, the spaniel cocked his head curiously to one side as he watched the intruder open Henrietta’s jewelry box and remove her betrothal ring. Rowley knew something was very wrong, and gave a concerned whine, which the intruder didn’t hear, but Henrietta certainly did. Her eyes flew open, and without realizing there was anyone else in the room, she looked directly up at the ghostly dog on the ceiling. She stared at him in the moving light from the fire. The King Charles spaniel she’d seen in the ballroom! Was he really a ghost? Or was she still asleep and dreaming?
    The cloaked intruder turned to leave and Henrietta saw the stealthy movement. She sat up with a cry of alarm, and the figure froze momentarily before dashing from the room. Rowley followed in hot pursuit, barking at the top of his lungs. Seeing her open jewelry box, and fearing everything had been stolen, Henrietta gave chase as well. Common sense had no place in her actions; she was intent only on apprehending the thief.
    The night light in the passage swayed in the draft from the intruder’s cloak as he turned the corner at the far end, toward the main staircase.