Thirty-one
Thea
“It is gloomy enough now to light the turnip goblins.” Thea tied the hood of her cloak under her chin Monday evening.
They’d spent the afternoon working on their plans to give an impression of a haunted manor.
If naught else, they might keep intruders from sneaking up again.
“Your ghost puppets are scary enough to invite actual spirits out to play. I hope we do not disturb the villagers too much.”
“Their fear will make it more real—and one hopes, keep them hiding from harm.” Fort handed her their basket of gourds while he prepared his excited students.
“Mrs. Upton is irate that we’ve snatched up all the old linen she’d planned on using for rags, and Lady Elsa is grumbling about sacrificing her winter vegetables.
So I suspect some will know what we’re doing. ”
“We’ll return the linen, unknotted, and I only chose damaged gourds that would rot otherwise.
I know it’s a been a bad year but I’d rather go hungry than be thrown into the street.
” Or kill anyone. Thea kept her anger and fear reined in.
“Do you think the brave and curious will try to inspect them?”
“We shall hang them from reach. The boys know the easy trees to climb.” Arnaud inspected the array of rags knotted into improbable shapes, with glaring swede and turnip heads attached.
A few of the larger rags hid buttons and old utensils from the attic that would rattle disconcertingly in the wind.
“The lawyer has decided to leave in the morning.” Fort donned his own cloak while the boys ran ahead, toward the rear door.
“We’ve forced him to worry about his partners, not ghosts.
Smart man. I think he seeks information in Birmingham.
That will be two gone, since one presumes he’ll take his servant.
We haven’t even started our little fright show, and it’s working already. ”
“With all the awful stories Rafe and the locals are relating of the very real murders this past year, even I am wondering why we are not haunted.” Wearing his own concealing cloak, Arnaud took Thea’s heavy basket.
“We are.” Thea hurried down the corridor after the boys. “But spirits aren’t really visible. The ones with something to say can be heard, if I’m inclined to listen, which I’m not, unless the wretched Wycliffe who hid the jewels wishes to speak up. He hasn’t.”
“One hopes the locals will recognize that people can be more evil than spirits. Gladstone screamed for the release of his knife-wielding valet this morning, because his cravat was wrinkled and tied badly. No one listened.” Fort grabbed another basket and followed.
“Fortunately, Rafe has convinced the lawyer that the ladies are in charge and won’t think of setting the evil varlet free until, at the very least, All Hallow’s Eve is over. ”
“If we scare the money man, will he leave without his valet?” Arnaud unlocked the rear door. “Will the rest flee if Gladstone does?”
As they stepped into the night, Thea gathered another portion of the ghosts in her cloak.
She hadn’t plotted this well. She simply wanted the villains gone and scaring them was the only way she knew.
She’d spent a lifetime frightening people by existing.
She didn’t wish the servants to be afraid of her, but short of killing her father, she saw little choice but to terrify the scoundrels into never returning. Ghosts or gunpoint. . .
If these men were like her father, they’d have to actually shoot them or they’d be back. The monsters needed to be convinced that Gravesyde was bad for their health.
In their black cloaks, with their arms full of gourds and rags, they made a strange procession down the dark drive.
The boys dashed ahead of them, more interested in climbing trees than talk.
Fort watched them go. “I have a notion that the gambler, Featherstone, and the American have the most to gain from acquiring the manor. We need to watch their servants. I cannot feature a swine like Humphries bestirring himself to physical assault. That’s what his pugilist valet is for.
Jones is valet in name only, you’ll remember, forced into the position after someone garroted the real one. ”
“We’re assuming Featherstone worked himself up from the city’s filth with his fists as well as his wits?
” Thea hadn’t spent a great deal of thought on the matter, but a gambler and brothel owner didn’t come from wealth, no matter how well he imitated his aristocratic customers.
He was likely as dangerous as the bodyguard valets.
Arnaud led the way, signaling the various guards that all was well—if a little peculiar.
“Do not forget the gambler’s pretty boy or the bookkeeper.
When we interviewed the financier, he claimed that he gave the gambler a large banknote in exchange for the coin for the journey.
Tatum, Featherstone’s valet, was the one who delivered the coins to the company bookkeeper.
Perser claims to have merely counted it. ”
“So Gladstone absolves himself of all guilt, even if he has to suspect at least one of his partners deals in counterfeit.” Fort directed the boys to a tree, holding the lantern so they could find their way up.
Thea wished Lavender accompanied them, but she had stayed behind to sew costumes for the next night. They’d left Weston grumbling and writing letters.
That left Thea to add what her co-conspirator had overheard in the pub.
“Lavender says Gladstone is nervous. Investors are city sorts and uncomfortable outside their circle of power. I don’t know what Humphries holds over him, but he is likely to bolt with the lawyer, given good excuse.
A lawyer and a money man aren’t likely to harm Hunt, are they? ”
“They might use their connections to look for him,” Fort warned, keeping an eye on the boys as they hung a goblin-headed ghost and scrambled down. “But we have Gladstone’s dangerous valet locked up. Do we know anything of Wilson, the lawyer’s man?”
“Not much.” Arnaud propped one of Thea’s gourd lanterns in a tree branch so candlelight created an eerie illumination on the ghostly sheet flickering in the breeze. “He’s old and gray but pretty sturdy.”
Thea admired the effect. The sewing ladies might not come to work all week if these stayed up. Lavender was smart enough to understand it was for the good of all.
“Wilson is scoffing at superstitious tales of murder and spirits, encouraging Haggarty to keep an eye on the others and not run tomorrow, according to Rafe. He is a bit of a mystery,” Fort acknowledged.
“Does Wilson carry a weapon? I didn’t notice one.” Arnaud hung one of the ghouls on a pine branch without climbing up. Thea doubted any of Rafe’s villainous guests could reach that high without a ladder. The boys followed Fort further down the dark drive.
A real owl hooted in the distance. She shivered and stood closer to Arnaud’s bulk.
She’d spent her childhood hiding in corners to prevent being locked up for her fanciful observations.
Having Arnaud at her side, shielding her from the world’s cruelty, allowed her to be herself.
She loved him for many reasons, but his acceptance strengthened the backbone she was only starting to grow.
“Might we start haunting the inn tonight?” Thea carried the last of their ghosts to the end of the drive, studying the inn’s yard for likely spirit bushes.
“Bang about the luggage room at midnight? I’m not sure Lavender will have the dummies ready, but I’d love to see the leeches gone before morning.” Fort gave the boys the last of the gourds to tuck into the hedge. He lit the candles inside once they were situated.
“Open a window and let the wind rattle the goblin sheets?” Arnaud studied the inn’s upper story, overhung by the thatched roof.
“A few rattles tonight, to disturb their sleep. Our grey monk in the branches above the chicken coop? The curate may have had time to set up the pulleys for the stink ghost.” If Thea could only unleash the spectral voices she heard, she’d truly terrify Rafe’s unwanted guests.
But her supernatural experiences and Arnaud’s artistic talent, combined with Fort’s admittedly strange technical expertise, had created what should be a truly terrifying substitute for the real thing. Especially in the windowless gloom of an Elizabethan inn saturated with blood and history.
“Shh.” Fort hastily gestured for silence, ushering his two students into a break in the hedge while nodding in the direction of the inn’s stable.
Two dark silhouettes, one slender, one sturdy, stealthily eased toward the back of the sprawling structure. The only horses ought to be those of the inn guests, Thea hoped. If they wanted to steal horses—let them go.
She hung on to Arnaud’s arm, preventing him from hunting his prey. “It’s not yet dinner time. Would they run away before eating?” Or set a fire or anything else while the ostlers still mucked stalls and fed the animals?
“I think they’re heading for the manor,” Fort whispered. “There’s a footpath behind the church, goes through that field.”
“Huh, we should have hung ghosts in the apple trees.” Holding Thea’s hand against his arm, Arnaud turned back to the drive. “We’ll arrive ahead of them.”
“Race to the portico,” Fort told his charges. “It’s almost time to wash for dinner.” With a brief bow and apology, he chased after them, protecting his students before tackling possible killers.
“You can’t fight two at once.” Thea worriedly matched her stride to Arnaud’s as he stalked up the drive like a lion after his kill.
He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I can, but I doubt it will come to that. I want to see how they mean to slip past the dogs.”
“Throw bones in the pen. It’s too early for the night patrol. Most of the guards are likely gathering in the kitchen. With everyone gone, we’re not having formal dinners, you’ll notice, should you ever pay attention.”