Free Old Lover's Ghost by Joan Smith Page A

it must have been Lord Winton, I daresay.”
    Charity beat a hasty retreat. From a few yards down the hall she heard Merton’s angry tirade. “And you came snooping about my room the moment I was gone! This is intolerable!”
    “I was just looking for the singing nun,” Mr. Wainwright said apologetically, backing from the doorway. “Another time.”
    “This room is out of bounds for your witch hunting, sir, at any time!”
    “Ghost hunting, milord!” Wainwright said.
    “Get out!”
    Wainwright closed the door and joined his daughter.
    “I told you you should ask him,” Charity said. Shame turned her cheeks as red as boiled beets. She feared this would be the end of Lord Merton’s interest in her. He thought she and her papa were a pair of nosy, snooping commoners—if not worse. First Papa had failed to find Lady Merton’s ghost; now he had given Lord Merton a disgust of them. They must certainly leave at once, before they were requested to go. She gave a hint of her feelings.
    “No, he does not want us to leave,” Wainwright said. “Lord Merton is hot at hand; he was surprised but not really angry.”
    “He told you to get out!”
    “Aye, but I sensed he regretted it almost before the words were out. I shall explain, but I shall not apologize. That is for Merton to do. Now, the Armaments Room requires more work.”
    Bagot, his long legs moving like pistons, came running to meet them as they descended the stairs. “Mr. Wainwright! Mr. Wainwright, come! The Armaments Room is a shambles. I heard a great crashing sound and went to investigate. The table holding the yellow jerkin and the helmet has been overturned by Knagg. There was no one in the room when it happened.”
    “Come!” Wainwright shouted gleefully, and darted off to the Armaments Room, with Charity in hot pursuit.
     

Chapter Seven
     
    The scene in the Armaments Room was as Bagot had described it. The small table holding the antique pistols, the round helmet, and the jerkin had been overturned, its contents scattered about the floor.
    “Can you not feel it?” Wainwright exclaimed. “The anger of those two blood relatives! It is overwhelming. I must ask you to leave, Charity. You might be harmed. Bagot, you will speak to the servants and determine that no one was in this room when the table was toppled. Leave me now. It is time for communication with the spirits.” He closed his eyes and went into what looked like a trance.
    Bagot ran off to do as he was bid, while Charity found herself at loose ends. She did not even want to be in the house when Merton came down. To escape, she went out to the cloisters to think. Merton would not be so uncivil as to ask them to leave before morning. She hoped her riding habit had arrived by then, so she could take it home with her; otherwise she would be without it for a few days in London and she wanted to ride. In London riding was restricted to the slow pace of Rotten Row. She had been looking forward to a good run in the country with Merton. How he must despise her now!
    She gazed out at the countryside she would not be riding through. Terraced gardens led down from the cloisters, with the land of Reefer Hall spreading away in the distance. There were patches of light and dark green fields, where the various crops were growing under the spring sun. In the farther distance she spied what must be sheep in a meadow, although they did not look like sheep from this distance, perhaps because they had just been sheared. They looked like little pink rocks, except that some of them were moving. A man on a bay mount was riding along the western edge of the field. As he drew closer, she recognized Lord Winton.
    Despite the physical resemblance, he was an altogether different sort of person from his elder brother. One would never have to tell him to enjoy himself. He took life very lightly—too lightly, really. Merton was always jawing at him. It was strange that the two brothers were so different. More like