Free Old Lover's Ghost by Joan Smith Page B

father and son than brothers. The Peerage had indicated that their father had died some twelve years before, when the present Lord Merton was eighteen, younger than Lewis was now. Merton had had to assume the mantle of responsibility at a youthful age. Perhaps that accounted for his arrogant manner.
    In a short while Lewis came out of the stable on foot and discovered Charity. He was not tardy in joining her.
    “What a wretched host my brother is, leaving you moping alone,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought he was going to show you the secret passage.”
    “He did. I am not moping.”
    “You look as sour as a Methodist. What has happened?”
    “Your brother and my papa have come to cuffs,” she said, and explained about the trip to Merton’s room.
    “Well, if that ain’t just like John, to go making a mountain out of a molehill. I shall have a word with him.”
    “No, I wish you will not. It is his not believing in ghosts, I think, that makes him impatient with this visit.”
    “Dash it, the house is alive with ghosts. How can he not believe? I have a good mind to prove it to him”
    “Perhaps Knagg’s latest visit in the Armaments Room will convince him,” she said, but she did not believe it.
    Lewis was on his feet. “Eh? Knagg paid us another visit?”
    “Yes, he was very violent this time. He threw the table over.”
    “By gad! Let us go and have a look!” He grabbed her hand, urging her to a faster pace as they returned to the house.
    Wainwright had finished his communication with the ghosts. Lord Merton had joined him in the Armaments Room. Bagot was there as well. Charity glanced fearfully at Merton, expecting scowls and sneers. To her considerable astonishment he was smiling and speaking civilly to her papa.
    “If Bagot says none of the servants was here, then it must have been Knagg cutting up a lark,” he said in a hearty voice. He spotted Charity and Lewis as they entered. She discerned a trace of embarrassment in his manner when he looked at her. It was there, in his uncertain smile and proud head, which was held a fraction lower than usual.
    “Ah, Lewis, you will want to have a look at this. Mr. Wainwright has suggested we leave the table and items on the floor as they are for the nonce, to see if the ghosts separate the items. You will see the yellow jerkin is resting on a Cavalier’s pistol. Mr. Wainwright thinks Knagg will move it. He plans to lock the room to ensure that no one—no living person, I mean—interferes. That would certainly convince me that we have ghosts.” He did not dare to look at Charity as he uttered this plumper, but he was acutely aware that she was staring at him.
    “The windows must be secured as well,” Wainwright explained. Merton looked doubtful at this. He was repentant, but he did not intend to have his window frames fitted out with locks to keep out nonexistent ghosts. “Putty,” Wainwright explained. “It can be removed without leaving a trace.”
    Merton said, “Just so. Bagot, you will see to it.”
    “Certainly, your lordship.” Bagot left reluctantly.
    “Well, this is certainly an amazing example of ghostly work, is it not, Mr. Wainwright?” Merton continued. “You will want to write this up for the Ghost Society, I wager.”
    “That is the Society for the Study of Discarnate Beings,” Wainwright corrected him. “There are other spirits besides ghosts. I am in contact with a Herr Schmidt from Berlin who is doing fascinating work on what he calls polter geists. The phrase means noise ghosts. They are unusual in that they never materialize but only make their presence known by means of noises. He will certainly be interested in today’s occurrence, but I think we have your ordinary run-of-the-mill ghosts here at Keefer Hall, not polter geists. The reason I say so is that I actually caught a glimpse of Charles this afternoon. Walter I should call him, the Cromwellian ghost. A handsome enough fellow, but with a polt foot.” His