Thirty-four
Lavender
Knotted rags with a ball of some dreadful concoction Arnaud’s niece had mixed, the stink balls for the ghosts arrived at the inn in a basket. They were light enough for Lavender to fling, if she desired.
Still shaken from her sword-wielding encounter with Humphries, Thea was reluctant to leave their safe room near the inn’s busy kitchen and happily decorated fearsome faces on rags. But Verity had already taken her children off to bed, and the men were ready for the stink ghosts.
“Will you be all right if I take this first lot out to Fort?” Lavender hated traversing unfamiliar corridors alone, but lacking confidence did not mean she was a coward.
Thea frowned, nodded, then lost herself in painting again.
Lavender wished for the days when Clare and Patience, or even Minerva, had been at her side.
But they were all married ladies now, with other responsibilities.
And at nineteen, she was supposed to be a responsible adult capable of taking care of herself, which she’d done all her life, admittedly.
This past year had been a lovely experience, sharing difficulties and working with others. It didn’t hurt to be on her own again.
Keeping her family and the village safe was more important than foolish timidity.
Staying close to the walls in this dark maze, she worked her way up the narrow backstairs from Rafe and Verity’s pleasant quarters, to the unused wing of bedchambers. Distant loud voices carried up from the pub, but this empty hall remained quiet.
Locating the sliver of light at the corner where the men should be, she took a deep breath, eased open the door, and breathed a sigh of relief at finding Fort’s familiar form working with a scarecrow.
He’d removed his coat, revealing the strength of wide shoulders beneath a nicely tailored shirt.
He was a duke’s son, she reminded herself.
He could afford fine linen. But duke’s sons shouldn’t have such brawny shoulders, and the way his well-fitting trousers revealed his firm posterior. . .
She must have made a noise because he swung around and almost caught her drooling like a hungry pup.
“You shouldn’t be wandering these halls alone! Where’s Thea?” He finished hooking the straw man to a pulley and took her basket.
Their bare hands brushed, and Lavender hastily pulled back. “Still painting. The hall is quite empty.”
He regarded her with interest but merely said, “Thank you.”
He ruined the moment by grimacing at the stench emanating from the basket. “Shouldn’t take long for these fiends to drive people out windows. What did she use, badgers?”
“A similar essence. It’s the base of most perfumes, and I shall never wear fragrance again. If we throw them into the attic, it will clear out rats.” Gazing around at the workshop, she frowned at what appeared to be a wig in the corner. “Is that a mop of some sort?”
He glanced at it and shrugged. “You are not the only master of disguise. Your attic is quite entertaining. We could dress as medieval pirates and ladies and haunt the halls, but I do not wish to be attacked by terrified drunkards.”
She’d stolen quite a few moth-eaten fabrics from those attic wardrobes. There was truth to that.
She tried to concentrate on the straw dummy he worked on. This chamber was barely more than a closet, and she was too aware of Fort’s masculine presence. This was why unmarried ladies shouldn’t be left alone with a man. Or vice versa, she supposed. Did he feel the same way? “Where is Arnaud?”
“Le comte has gone to test the far end of the rope. Here, let me show you.” Fort fastened one of her small, smelly ghosts to a hook on the rope hanging outside the door.
“We don’t have time to do this properly, but as long as we can keep our smelly specters flitting along the ceiling, they should be effective in driving the guests out to see if they’ve been invaded by badgers.
We’ve confiscated all the lanterns. They’ll only have candles, and by the time they light one, the ghost will have vanished into the darkness, like a good specter should.
Even if they’re not superstitious, they’ll be confused and open to suggestion. ”
He tugged a string, and after a brief hesitation, the knotted, smelly rag with the evil grimace slid toward the ceiling.
Lavender peered around the corner and watched it float into the night, leaving a stink behind. “That’s terrifying,” she whispered. “Not the stink, but the way you make it move.”
“The acting troupe gave us the idea. I believe Mr. Upton wished to have a church drama and fly angels overhead, and they showed us how.” He hung a few more ghosts. “Once we hang the rest, we’ll be ready. I’ll escort you home before Rafe closes the pub and sends everyone to their rooms.”
“And miss all the fun?” she protested in surprise. After all their hard work, she wasn’t about to be left out. “No, sir, my lord. The hullabaloo is likely to terrify the kitchen staff and the children. Verity will have her hands full. Hallow-e’en two nights early will be unexpected.”
Lavender might be wary of being alone with a man, but she knew what was right and wrong. Like the boys, his lordship simply had difficulty including people in his schemes.
He’d not shaved this evening. His beard stubble made him look less a gentleman, but more approachable, even when he scowled.
She was pretty certain, in Fort’s case, scowling meant he was thinking.
He generally did not scowl at her. His patience with her inadequacies was the reason she trusted him not to talk over her when she spoke, as men often did.
“I am trying to consider others,” he admitted, at last. “I’m not very good at it. I’ve been concentrating on removing villains, not on how my plan affects the family. I must appoint you as the conscience I apparently lack.”
Lavender smothered a laugh at his aggrieved look. “I have noticed most gentlemen are more inclined to follow their own plans without consideration of others. It is how you accomplish so much, I suppose, but it is a marvel that you are not killed in the process. Should we hang the other straw man?”
“As much as I would like that, I should not be alone with you. You make me think improper things. I should be bringing you posies, not smelly ghosts. I’ll take you back to Thea.” Impulsively, he kissed her brow and pushed her out the door, closing it behind them.
Lavender didn’t know how to react. He must be trying to distract her from protesting.
Should she slap him? Give him a proper set-down?
Her boarding school had taught her the proprieties, but they certainly hadn’t included wandering the dark halls of an inn, with lords disguised as tutors intent on mayhem.
“Did I anger you?” he asked in concern as they took the stairs down to the room where Thea worked. “I didn’t mean to. I can’t read people well.”
“Like I can’t read letters well?” She had no notion what else to say. Couldn’t duke’s sons do anything they wanted? How could he possibly have doubts? He might shoot pistols down the hall and no one would stop him.
“Yes, it may be just like that. So please keep me in line when I stray too far from—what do I call it? Society’s expectations?” Fort shoved open the workroom door before she could reply.
“You stink!” Thea cried in dismay.
Well, that put both of them in their place.