Chapter Five
It was late when Caris sought her bed. As she walked down the corridor with Grace, neither of them spoke about the contents of the will.
No doubt the questions would come once they were in the privacy of the bed chamber that had been granted them for the night.
With everyone stuck there together, and with the Denworthy siblings claiming the most luxurious of the rooms, not that she had expected to be given such opulent quarters.
The door closed behind them and instantly Grace spoke. “Marry him. Do not hesitate, do not think. Marry him.”
“What?”
“He’s a viscount,” she said, as if that were the single most important thing about the man. “He is a viscount and you would become a viscountess and you would never have to work for anyone or be subservient to anyone ever again.”
“Except the husband I would acquire in the process,” Caris reminded her sharply.
“Do you truly think he seems the sort of man to bully and belittle you? Caris, you have only ever worked for Mrs. Denworthy and at the school! You do not know what it’s like,” Grace insisted vehemently.
“I’ve been in several homes and quite frankly, the last one was the worst of the lot.
Dodging lascivious men, servant and master alike…
tolerating the pettiness and jealousy of other women in the house who resent us for being of a higher station if they are servants or a lower station if they are not!
Marry him. Spare yourself the indignities I have suffered. ”
“Grace… I can’t simply marry him because that is a better option than working. A job I can leave but a husband I cannot!”
“And a fortune? I heard Amaris Denworthy and the eldest brother discussing it and the sum, Caris, is astonishing. Truly. You must at least think about it,” Grace said. “I’m going down the hall to the washroom. I’ll return shortly.”
“Be careful. I can’t think what the butler meant when he told us to stay to our rooms during the night—no matter what we might hear.”
Grace gave a little shiver. “He was an odd one to be sure. But this rambling monstrosity of a house would make anyone odd over time. Are you certain Mrs. Denworthy grew up here?”
“She said so,” Caris mused. “But oddly enough, she disliked speaking of her childhood—both her family and the home she lived in.” In fact, Mrs. Denworthy had grown stonily silent at the merest hint of her childhood home.
Now, having stepped inside the daunting and ominous structure, Caris could understand why.
And naturally she would have been reticent to speak much about them to her, as she’d known all along that Caris was her brother’s child.
The betrayal of that deception cut deeply.
“Do hurry back.”
“Oh, I have no intention of lingering,” Grace stated dramatically. “A less welcoming place I’ve never been to in all my life!”
Caris watched her leave and then used that opportunity to remove her own borrowed black dress and hang it on one of the pegs to avoid it being further rumpled.
Then she donned her wrapper, a slightly worn garment that had certainly seen better days.
Then she unpinned her hair, whimpering at the release of it.
The heavy mass had been piled up so high on her head for so much of the day that her neck and scalp ached from it.
Rubbing her tender scalp for a few minutes helped to ease the worst of it.
Then she carefully brushed the mass of blonde waves and fastened them in a heavy braid.
By the time she’d finished changing for bed and tidying up after herself, she realized that Grace should have returned long before then. A prickle of unease stole through her.
Opening the door, Caris peered into the hall but found it completely abandoned. Not simply empty but quiet in the way of something utterly deserted. That corridor was desolate in its emptiness. “Grace?” she called out softly.
There was no response. Nothing. The gas lamps along the wall flickered, casting only the dimmest of illumination over the painfully dark walls and carpet.
It was as if they sucked in all the light and let none of it alleviate the unrelenting darkness.
The memory of that brief flash of gray skirts teased her mind but she pushed it away. It was not the time for panic.
“Grace, are you there?” she called out once more. Only the sound of her own hushed voice echoed back to her.
Feeling unaccountably frightened and equally foolish, Caris stepped out into the corridor and moved toward the washroom located at the end.
Every creaking board, every pop and snap of the house settling or the wind rattling the windows from outside had her shivering.
When at last she reached the door to the washroom, she knocked softly.
“Grace, this isn’t at all amusing. If you’re in there—”
She didn’t finish because the door opened abruptly. Standing in the open frame was none other than Viscount Grimsleigh, himself. “I can assure you, Miss Fortune, that your companion is not in here. The room was empty and the door ajar when I arrived a moment or two ago.”
Caris struggled to find words as she stared at the open neck of his shirt and the curiously bronzed skin beneath.
He had long since discarded his coat, neckcloth, and waistcoat and now wore only thin white linen and well-fitting trousers.
“Grace left our room to come here more than a quarter hour ago and she has not returned.”
His expression went from amused to concerned in a flash. “Let me get a lamp that will, hopefully, provide better lighting than these blasted sconces. Then we shall search for her together.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Caris said. “I’m sure she’s returned to our chamber by now. Perhaps she missed our room and wandered farther down the corridor.” The suggestion fell hollowly because she did not believe it. From his slightly raised brow, it was clear that he did not either.
“Wait here,” he said. Then, “Or better yet, accompany me to my chamber… You need not enter. Simply stand in the doorway while I get the lamp. I don’t think it wise to separate. Hayton House is… peculiar.”
The proper thing would have been to refuse.
After all, accompanying a gentleman to his bedchamber, regardless of the reason, was quite scandalous.
But there was something in the way he’d paused before uttering the word peculiar.
He’d seen something too, she realized. Regardless, she was less concerned with scandal in that moment than with the lengthening shadows that danced along the corridor.
They felt, for lack of a better word, menacing.
“Where could she possibly have gotten to?” Caris murmured as they traversed the distance to his chamber. The house, built in a large U shape, meant that his room was just around the corner from their chamber. “Where are the others?”
“They are all in the east wing,” he replied. “And one floor below us. Those rooms have been redone in the last decade or so… and the lighting on those floors is significantly better.”
“Would she have wandered down there? I can’t imagine why,” she said.
He glanced at her as they paused outside his chamber door. “Miss Fortune—Caris—I very much fear that wherever your friend may be, she is not there of her own volition. This house—it’s full of dangers. Seen and unseen. Some of this world and some with far murkier origins.”
“Ghosts?” she demanded incredulously. He might as well have said the sun was the moon.
“I do not know,” he said. “I do not know what wanders the halls of Hayton House, but whatever it is, it has only the most ill intent.”
She wanted to deny it, quickly and vehemently. And yet something kept her quiet. Because whether Hayton House was inhabited by some otherworldly being, it was definitely filled with an ominous presence.