Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Despite Agnes’s efforts to make contact again with the spirit, the air felt flat, the rooms were sufficiently warmed by the fire, and Bram was back to his usual routine.
Each night after the Minster’s bells tolled their midnight song, she walked into Richard’s bedchamber and waited. Sometimes she sat and listened for the faintest whisper, while other times she called out to him, pleading for his help.
Now she sat in her apothecary, nodding off as she ground plantain into a paste.
She infused water with catmint to make drops that would help soothe a babe’s stomach.
She created an oil of lemon balm for inflamed skin.
If she were going to be evicted from this home, she would use what she could from her gardens and make as many remedies as she could take with her.
When she wasn’t in the attic, she searched every drawer and book in Richard’s study. Her body screamed for a rest, but she kept going.
She flipped through her most recent journal and a particular page sparked a memory.
Edith had taught her that mugwort and frankincense aided in communication with the other side.
The herbs could increase one’s perceptions of the spirits.
She grew mugwort herself in her greenhouse, as it was a common ingredient in her remedies for cramps, especially those brought on by monthly courses.
But her frankincense supply was almost empty.
It had to be purchased from the market, and it came at a cost. How would she be able to afford more without Richard’s generous funding?
If she were to continue, she would have to adapt her recipes to include less expensive ingredients.
Some would become less potent and some wouldn’t be feasible to make at all.
To ease her worries, Agnes paused and took out a folded note from the back cover of her journal.
My Beautiful Agnes,
I’m reviewing a budget for an earl, but the black ink reminds me of the soulfulness of your eyes. I can’t stop thinking about the way you closed them when you took your pleasure. Next time, keep them open for me.
What are you doing to me?
–H
Harry had sent her letters every day since he had left.
He had to stay in London to attend meetings with Charles to make it look as if he were still executing the will, moving funds, and preparing for the future sale of Bootham House.
But his written words did little to keep her from being heartsick over his absence.
Her laugh echoed off the slanted walls of her apothecary.
Heartsick? He had only been gone for three days.
It was foolish, she was aware, but it felt so good to be foolish sometimes.
In need of a break, and possibly a nap, she headed to her bedchamber. From the staircase, she heard a knock from the entryway. She sprinted down the stairs, only pausing at the bottom to catch her breath as Ward opened the front door.
“All right, All right,” the butler lamented. “Just come in before the neighbors witness you stalking the house like some rabid dog.”
Harry walked past Ward, no longer waiting for any ceremonious introductions, and took Agnes into his arms.
“Hell in a handbasket,” Ward grumbled from behind them and casually dismissed himself. Alone now, Agnes leaned into Harry and gave in to his kisses.
“You surprised me. You didn’t tell me you would be calling. I thought you would mention it in your frequent correspondence.”
“Is that your way of telling me I’m writing too much?” He raised an eyebrow. “If you prefer I do not pour my constant affections on you, Lady Skelton, I can pretend to be a less interested suitor. But of course, it would all be an act, because I am smitten.”
He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, then her palm. It was a small intimacy considering their previous stolen moments, but after missing his touch, it still made her tired body nearly collapse. Would she ever get used to him?
“Please tell me you have some time to stay. We can start off with tea. If you can stay longer than that, then there are some other activities I have in mind.”
Harry blushed. “Let’s start with tea for now and see what else time allows.”
He followed her into the drawing room, and she left him to request a tea tray. Her nerves left her feeling like a young maiden, not the widow she was, and not the woman who had seduced him just a couple days ago.
She calmed herself just before reentering the drawing room, Kitty following with the tray. Harry sat with his legs crossed at the ankle, leaning back against the settee. His smile transformed his face as if he hadn’t just greeted her moments before.
“So, have you discovered anything in his study? Any more secret rooms, magic potions, skeletons in the closet?”
She forced a laugh, and he must have heard the anxiety she tried to hide. His eyes shot to hers, concerned.
“Not exactly, but there is something I need to tell you.” She poured the tea and handed him his cup. “Something I didn’t tell you before, but I will now. I don’t want to keep secrets from you, and also, I need your help.”
“I’m all ears, sweetheart.”
“I never told you exactly how I found the key to the secret room. It wasn’t just from a random search. A ghost, or some type of spirit, led me to it . . . Richard’s ghost, I think.”
Harry took a sip and grimaced. This was a mistake. It had been a difficult choice to tell Harry about the spirit, but she valued his partnership. Although he did not contradict her with words, his face showed his true reaction. What if he thought her hysterical?
“Oh. I suppose you don’t believe in ghosts. I promise, though, I’m not crazy.” He shook his head and put up a finger, swallowing loudly.
“It’s not that. I just was . . . eh, surprised by the tea.”
His words tumbled around in her mind. Agnes was still trying to understand them when she remembered that she had given Kitty a new blend of tea to brew.
It was a tea she had yet to taste herself.
She lifted the lid of the teapot and inhaled the steam.
It smelled lovely—earthy and warming—but she knew aroma did not always match the taste.
“Oh. Is it that awful? I haven’t tried it myself.”
Harry laughed and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I never want to speak poorly of your teas. I was committed to hiding my reaction, but it’s rather . . . vile.”
Curious now, she took her own sip. Calling it an assault to her senses would have been an understated account of the actual atrocity. Her taste buds rebelled and the inside of her cheeks prickled. She forced it down.
“Yes. My apologies. Kuding has magnificent benefits to our health, but making it palatable is difficult. This blend is most certainly a failed attempt.”
Agnes summoned Kitty and asked her to brew the tea sitting on her worktable in the attic, the one containing mugwort and frankincense.
Bram jumped onto the table, sniffed the offending tea, and took a few laps of milk before Agnes pushed him off.
Harry tried to stroke the cat but was warned away by a hiss.
“So, a ghost, you said?” It was clear Harry was trying to maintain a strong facade, but Agnes could see through it. During her life in York, she had seen many reactions to the spirits that walked among them—curiosity, suspicion, fear—and could distinguish between them.
“Yes. For several nights before finding the key, I was visited by a spirit just after midnight. I could feel its presence, and it interacted with the physical world as well. Doors opened and shut, Bram acted oddly, and then there was the paperweight. It kept rolling onto the floor.”
He gulped, and Agnes waited for a response. When none came, she asked, “Do you believe me?”
“I do. You might be from London, but you are a Yorkie through and through. You have more experience with these things than I do. I’m just at a loss for words.”
Relief settled over her. She hadn’t realized how anxious she had been to reveal the ghostly happenings with him.
Harry would certainly never mock her, but she was worried that it would change the way he looked at her.
He was already courting the Witch of York, a bastard from Whitechapel.
What if he also believed her to be tormented by whispers in the wind and lost souls in the shadows?
With his encouragement, she continued, “I have been hoping that the spirit would return to provide another message to help us out of our troubles.”
“It’s worth trying. How do we contact a ghost?”
We. They were in this together. Right on time, Kitty showed up with the tea tray.
“We can start by drinking this tea.”
The brave face Harry had forced was starting to slip.
The goosepimples were mountainous on his skin, causing a tingle to encompass his body with every slight draft.
If Agnes wasn’t afraid of the ghostly visitor, he would not allow her to see his fear.
So, he held back his internal screams and dug his heels into the hardwood floors to keep from running.
Standing in Lord Skelton’s bedchamber was strangely personal considering he had once been employed by the man. Harry reasoned he was past formalities at this point. What was the purpose of decorum after he had made love to the man’s widow?
“Our best chance of making contact will be at night. Can you stay until midnight? You could sleep here.”
“And what of your reputation? I can’t make it a habit of spending the night, especially with my visits becoming as frequent as they have.”
Agnes sighed and rolled her eyes. She would rather scoff at the idea than admit he was right. He placed his hand on the small of her back. His body shivered with a bewildering mix of fear and desire.
“So what do we do now?” There were many things he wanted to do, but this wasn’t the time. Still, being this close to her, just outside her bedchamber, was forming a thick fog through his mind.
“I don’t know. We just listen.” She took him by the hand and they sat on the padded bench in front of the four-poster bed.
Only the sound of their synchronized breaths marked the silence.
Harry was convinced that their hearts were beating in rhythm as well.
He was supposed to be watching for signs of the other realms or something to that effect, but instead, he indulged himself in her intoxicating proximity.
At least it provided a distraction from his terror.
Someone was watching. He turned and saw Agnes studying him. “Did you hear anything?”
“No,” she said quietly. He brought his hand up to her cheek, and pulled her bottom lip down with his thumb. They had just begun their courtship, but he already knew. This was it for him. He kissed her thoroughly and she lay down on the cushion, pulling him on top of her.
Consumed by her kisses, he forgot his surroundings for a few delicious moments. But then he remembered where he was and pulled back. “Um, sweetheart?”
She smiled, a lazy smile as if his kisses had been laced with their own blend of lemon balm and lavender.
“I would love to ravish you, but perhaps we should move out of your late husband’s bedchamber? Especially if his ghost might be . . .” He looked around. “Watching?”
Her whole body shook with mirth. “Come on.” She tipped her legs off the side of the bench and with one look, commanded him to follow.