Free Mistress of Merrivale by Shelley Munro

hour with your husband. I’ll send for you once we’re indoors again.”
    “You’re an angel,” Tilly said.
    Jocelyn shook her head since they’d repeated this conversation many times. Tilly was the saint for dealing with her mother during her bad spells. “Go before I change my mind.”
    Tilly left, and Jocelyn trailed her mother and Cassie. The childish chatter and her mother’s soft replies reassured Jocelyn that neither of her charges required aid. She turned a corner and came across a young man trimming a hedge. He nodded in greeting before continuing his task.
    A harsh scream cut the air without warning.
    Jocelyn started running, lifting her skirts to navigate the twisting path. The young gardener raced behind her, his boots sending gravel flying.
    A second scream came from Jocelyn’s right, followed by a high-pitch childish shriek of alarm. Jocelyn changed direction. She sprinted around a corner, her breath emerging in harsh pants and came to an abrupt stop. Her mother was cringing in a corner, a hedge at her back with Cassie squashed behind her rigid frame.
    “Mother?” Jocelyn approached slowly, aware of the wildness in her mother’s eyes. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be fine.”
    The contents of her mother’s basket littered the path, sprigs of herbs and delicate rose petals crushed beneath her feet. Her fierce eyes scanned a copse of oak trees, and she trembled violently.
    “Mother?”
    Hurried footsteps behind Jocelyn announced Arabella’s arrival. “What have you done to Cassie?” she demanded.
    “Nothing,” Jocelyn said tersely. “Mother?”
    Cassie started crying and the tears exacerbated her mother’s panic. Elizabeth’s facial muscles twitched. Another violent quake shook her thin shoulders and she shrieked, long and loud. The harsh, grating cry made the small hairs at the back of Jocelyn’s neck lift in foreboding.
    “Mother, what is it?”
    “The spy. He followed us. He’s here.”
    “What spy?” Arabella demanded.
    Not again . Jocelyn ignored Arabella to scan their surroundings. She could discern nothing in the garden or amongst the shadows in the trees. “There’s no one there, Mother.”
    “There is. There is! He’s hiding.” Her mother’s voice was shrill and she shook uncontrollably.
    Jocelyn frowned, concerned about Cassie, who was wailing in earnest. “Mother, you’re scaring Cassie. Can we go inside and talk about it?”
    “But the spy will come closer when we’re not looking,” her mother shrieked. “We can’t let him.”
    A frustrated sigh escaped Jocelyn. Her mother wouldn’t budge until she proved there was no spy in the vicinity. Meanwhile Cassie continued to cry, her small body almost hidden by her mother’s skirts. Jocelyn turned to the gardener. “Could you check the copse for strangers please?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Sherbourne.”
    “Thank you. Look for footprints or anything out of the ordinary.” Jocelyn wrinkled her forehead, realized it could cause creases and smoothed her expression. “I don’t suppose you saw any strangers loitering in the area?”
    “No, Mrs. Sherbourne. The only people I’ve seen are the ladies and Miss Cassie.”
    “Arabella, did you see anyone?”
    “Of course not.” Arabella sniffed, the twirl of her parasol highlighting her disdain.
    Jocelyn suspected her mother was seeing ghosts again where there were none. She issued more instructions to the gardener. “Search the garden and the edge of the trees. Let Woodley know when you’ve finished and if you discover anything.”
    The young man touched his cap in a respectful manner and trotted away.
    “Search amongst the oaks first,” her mother screeched. “Look for a white ghost.”
    A ghost? First she’d seen a man and now she was changing her story. Jocelyn fought for patience. Losing her temper wouldn’t help—she knew from past experience. “Mother, the gardener will search for an intruder. Please, stop screaming. You’re frightening Cassie.”