Chapter 3
What a dazzling smile! It transformed her entire face.
Gervaise was beginning to like Mrs. Rose. A prickly little thing, but he could hardly blame her. By what Eddie had told him, her father was the domineering sort. No doubt she wanted to be out from under his thumb.
Nevertheless, she was far too young and pretty to live here on her own. Did she expect to be accepted by local society?
Not if she meant to make Lucky Cottage into a boarding house. She might no longer be seen as a lady, and that would put her even more at risk. Brighton was full of downright snobs and worse, predatory men.
Which Gervaise was not, although he shouldn’t have called her love, but her smile, the sheer pleasure on her face had stolen his commonsense. When and where had he met her before?
Not recently, of that he was sure. It must have been years ago, before he left to play the spy in France. Before she’d been forced to wed Eddie Rose.
A few days from now, after he’d won the wager of six months without being revealed as a man, he would leave, so as not to risk her reputation.
Which she was already risking by living alone, but he couldn’t do much about that.
Or could he?
He left her with the tea and rock cakes and nipped up to the top floor to remove the signs of recent use there. Then he returned to the first floor, removed the sheets from his bed, put a fresh set on for Mrs. Rose, packed up his belongings, and brought them down to the butler’s pantry for now.
He would have to sleep in the housekeeper’s room to keep up appearances. He didn’t much like that bed, but needs must. Luckily, he already kept all his women’s clothing there.
No, it wasn’t luck, just standard practice when playing a role. As a spy, he’d become the person he was pretending to be. It was a matter of life and death.
Now, it was only a wager, but after years when any slipup could spell disaster, a silly bet with an old friend was a welcome relief.
Except that even traveling all over England and the Continent for over a year and then six months of solitude here, away from family and society and their expectations of him, he wasn’t ready to return.
He wasn’t the same man as four years ago.
He never would be. Didn’t want to be. Nor was he comfortable simply being himself. Whoever that was.
Once she’d finished her tea and cakes, Mrs. Rose went over the whole house from attics to cellar, murmuring softly to herself, detailing everything in a notebook. Perhaps she meant to sell what she could to help make ends meet.
She shouldn’t have to, damn it all. And if she did, she needed help.
This was a lonely stretch of road, a little too far from Brighton for both convenience and safety.
The small band of smugglers who passed their goods nearby wouldn’t do her any harm; most were good fellows, family men in need of a little extra money. Nevertheless…
When he went to the drawing room to fetch her supper tray—she’d polished off her share of the pie, as well as an apple, a wedge of cheese, and another rock cake—he asked, “Did Mr. Dent at the Old Oak warn you about the ghost, missus?”
She rolled her eyes. “I wondered when you would get around to mentioning it. I’m not afraid of ghosts. They are quite harmless, and in any event, there are no ghosts here except that of my deceased husband.”
He stifled a laugh. “Captain Rose’s ghost is here?”
“You needn’t look at me like that. I see ghosts—always have—and the only one I see here is his. He’s over by the mantlepiece, pointing at you and laughing.”
Gervaise barely stopped himself from turning; instead, he looked himself up and down. “Why would he laugh at me?” If Eddie’s ghost really was there, Gervaise knew the answer. “Well now, that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“The rattling windows in the attic, even when there’s no wind. Would that be your Captain Rose’s ghost?”
She chuckled. “Yes, he’s grinning at me, very proud of himself. It’s not easy for ghosts to move physical objects. I assume he was just having fun.”
That sounded like Eddie Rose. “There’s talk of the ghost of a soldier over by Devil’s Dyke, missus. Seems he frightened the smugglers and excisemen alike.”
“Eddie is taking credit for that, too,” she said. “Which reminds me, I thought perhaps the ghost stories about this cottage were spread by smugglers, but I saw no sign that such men use this house for hiding contraband.”
“Far as I know, they don’t, missus,” he said. “The outbuildings neither.”
“Mr. Dent also mentioned a highwayman, but I fail to see what he would want with me.”
What any man would want of a pretty woman, but fortunately, Captain Moonlight was a gentleman, a good sort with, Gervaise suspected, a lovely young woman already in possession of his heart. “He’s not a burglar. Stay home after dark, and you’ll be fine.”
“I have nowhere else to go,” she said.
He would have to do something about that, too, while ensuring her safety as well.
Fortunately, she was tired enough to retire early. He hurried her up to bed with a glass of hot milk, changed into his own clothes, cleaned his teeth, tied his overlong hair back in a queue, saddled Strider, his bay gelding, and sent Sergeant Dolman from the stable over to the house.
“I don’t like her to be all alone in there,” he said.
“With any luck she’ll go right to sleep, but if she comes down to the kitchen, have an excuse ready.
” He paused at the aghast expression in the man’s eyes.
“She’s a pleasant lady, Sergeant. Sympathetic and kind.
I’ll be back as quickly as I can, but if I’m late, you’ll have to man the signal light. ”
Dolman gave him a dirty look. “The light, fine, but I ain’t playing no ghost. You may think it’s a lark, sir, but I only tried to rob you out of desperation. I’d rather be an honest man.”
“I know, Sergeant, and I’m probably too old for larks.” Dolman, destitute and starving, had unsuccessfully tried to hold Gervaise up on the road to Brighton. Gervaise had fed him, hired him as a groom, then made the damned wager and put him to work at Lucky Cottage.
Gervaise set off at a canter, and before long rode up the long dark drive between ancient yews to the home of Sir Simon Best, JP.
He realized, before he even made it halfway up the drive, that something was going on there tonight.
Light gleamed from too many windows for latish on an evening in the country.
He couldn’t have chosen a worse moment to drop in for a quick chat and a cigarillo—and to ask a favor. The last thing he wanted was to do the pretty to Lady Best’s friends, but in order to ask that favor, he had no choice.
His timing proved even worse when, on riding around to the stable, he recognized one of the coaches in the yard.
It belonged to his father. “Who’s here?” he asked Martin, a groom he’d known since boyhood visits.
“Surely not my parents?” If so, he would turn around and leave, and send Best a note instead.
“Nay, Master Ghost, ah, Mr. Transom, I should say,” the groom corrected himself. “Only your sister, Miss Transom, to stay for a while.”
Not good, but better than having to explain to his parents once again that he wasn’t ready to return to society, or at least not the sort of society they enjoyed.
“A curate and his daughter came to dine,” Martin added. “Captain Somerville, too.”
Gervaise squared his shoulders and made his way, like the coward he had become, through the back garden to the French door of Simon’s study. Sure enough, the gentlemen had come here to smoke their cigarillos before joining the ladies in the drawing room.
“Ghost!” Simon cried. “You’re a sight for sore eyes. What brings you here at this odd hour?” He raised his brows in a silent question: Have I won the bet?
Gervaise gave an infinitesimal shake of the head in response.
“Only the opportunity to blow a cloud.” He shook his friend’s hand, then those of Robin Somerville and the curate.
“And to ask a small favor for a friend of mine. But that can wait. I’d hoped not to disturb the ladies—as you can see, I’m not in evening attire—but I hear my sister is here. ”
“She is indeed,” Mr. Pendleton, the curate, said.
“She is wishful to attend an assembly in Brighton. These young ladies, you know—always on the lookout for a fine young man to catch unsuspecting on their hook!” He gave a cheerful laugh.
“On the subject of fine young fellows, we were just speaking of you, Mr. Transom. Your dear sister was saying how much they miss you. She will be utterly delighted that you are back in England, hopefully for good. She said you were visiting relatives in France?”
That’s what he’d led everyone to believe. If people thought he was elsewhere, they were less likely to penetrate his disguise. Nor would family members try to find him.
He didn’t need to answer, for the curate rambled on about how delightful it must be to visit the Continent again. Gervaise shared a glance with Robin Somerville; they’d both been to war in their separate ways. He liked the man, whose eyes always held a touch of mockery.
“Have you come to stay with us?” Simon asked. “Lily would like that. She misses you.”
“Not just yet,” Gervaise said, “although I’ve been turfed out of my pied-à-terre at Lucky Cottage. Eddie Rose’s widow arrived to take possession, and the housekeeper promptly packed me up and sent me away. I’ve a room at an inn for tonight. Then I’ll be away again for I don’t know how long.”
“Why, you fool? You know you’re always welcome here,” Simon retorted, while Robin Somerville’s amused expression deepened. Not for the first time, Gervaise wondered if Robin had penetrated his disguise.
They’d taken no more than a few puffs of their cigarillos before Lady Best came in, scolding. “Dearest, you really shouldn’t encourage the poor curate to partake of such a ghastly vice—Ghostie! What a delightful surprise!”