Free Old Lover's Ghost by Joan Smith

arms. “They seem to have settled down,” she said.
    “Pity. You rob me of the heroic role of bat slayer. Shall we have a nice argument about the unnecessary killing of bats, or would you rather go on up to the attic?”
    Charity cleared her throat uneasily. “I really should see if Papa needs me.”
    “I shall never understand you, Miss Wainwright,” Merton said, shaking his head. “How can you take ghosts in your stride and be frightened of a little bat?”
    “You are talking about two completely different things. You ignore the very possibility of ghosts, when hundreds of people say they have seen them. You have no imagination. Perhaps I have too much. I could almost imagine that bat was clawing into my hair.”
    “That is superstition. Bats do not nest in ladies’ hair.”
    “Of course they do. Everyone knows that.”
    “I do not know it. I know! I am not everyone,” he added hastily.
    “I was going to say they are nasty, dirty things, whether they nest in one’s hair or not,” she said, and ran quickly down the staircase, where she scrambled out of the cupboard as fast as her legs could carry her.
    While Merton returned the dusty bowls and books, Charity complained of her gown. “I knew I would get my gown dusty.”
    “The servants will clean it for you.”
    She went up to her room at once. While she changed her gown, she discovered she had to reassess Lord Merton. He was not entirely given over to work by any means. In fact, he was nothing short of a delightful flirt. But what were his intentions?
    This visit was turning out to be more interesting than she had anticipated. As no one was about when she came down, she went in search of her papa and was told by Bagot that he had gone to investigate the cloisters. She eventually found him at the rear of the house, strolling through a covered archway that surrounded a paved quadrangle. A series of ten graceful stone arches in the Norman style formed the outer wall.
    “Ah, there you are,” he said, smiling, when he saw her. “A marvelous place. The singing nun is at home here. She is the same lady who was stabbed in Lord Merton’s room. I have been trying to get a grasp of why it happened. I am beginning to wonder if there is a link between her and Knagg and the Cromwellian ghost. A lovers’ triangle, as it were. That would heighten the animosity between Knagg and the other ghost. His name is Charles, by the by, but he calls himself Walter. He did not want to have the same name as the king, whom he despised.”
    “Did you find any confirmation of this in the library?” she asked. It darted into her head that he may have found the story there and put it forth as his own, to be “confirmed” at a later date. Such little ruses were not beneath him.
    “No, but I shall keep on digging. I would like to visit Lord Merton’s bedchamber again. Lady Merton told me to make myself at home.”
    “I would ask Merton first, Papa,” Charity said.
    “I saw him ride off a while ago. I hailed him, but he did not hear me. I shall just run up and have a quick look. There can be no harm in it. I was in there last night.”
    “I wish you would wait until he returns.”
    “What is the harm in it? I shan’t touch anything. Come along, Charity. I want you to take notes for me. I sometimes forget the exact words of the speaker. I want an accurate record.”
    Charity tried again to dissuade him, but when he became sharp with her, she went along. Knowing that Merton had ridden out, it seemed superfluous to knock at the door. Mr. Wainwright just opened it and barged in, with Charity behind him. They both found themselves staring at a very surprised Lord Merton, caught in the act of undressing. His shirt was off, revealing a handsome set of shoulders and a patch of dark hair on his broad chest. His valet was handing him a clean shirt.
    “What is the meaning of this?” Merton exclaimed angrily.
    “I was sure you had left, milord,” Wainwright said. “I saw you—well,