“In his study, he is most…”
He kissed her cheek. “I need to see him.”
Leaving his mother open-mouthed, Harry strode over and opened the study door without knocking. “Father, I must speak to you.”
“That’s providential, as I wish to have words with you,” his father said, red-faced. “I was tempted to organize a search party but decided it unwise, as it would draw attention to the fact that you and Miss Dunstable were alone all night together. Usually, marriage follows such folly, but it’s as well for you that Mrs. Dunstable doesn’t want you for a son-in-law.”
“We never intended to be away for than an hour or two up at the castle. We planned to return before Cecily was missed.” Aware of his mother hovering in the hall, Harry approached his father’s desk with the hope he wouldn’t succumb to a seizure. “Cecily and I discovered a body in the dungeons up there, and then we were locked in all night.”
“You found what?”
“We believe it is Lady Margaret Pomeroy’s skeleton. I intend to see the vicar later to discuss the burial arrangements. What’s the local magistrate’s name? He shall have to be told. They must retrieve the remains.”
“Mr. Lawrence,” his father muttered, clearly too dumbfounded to say more.
Harry slid into a chair. “I’d better tell you everything. But I warn you, Father, you might find it difficult to believe.”
“Please do,” his father gasped. “Whether or not I believe it is hardly relevant at this point.”
*
“You have someexplaining to do, my girl.” Her mother clutched Cecily’s arm as if she might suddenly disappear and pushed her into the parlor. She went to the cupboard and brought out the family Bible. “Now, place your hand on the Bible, Miss. I’ll have the truth from you.”
“I would never lie to you, Mother,” Cecily protested, painfully aware she was about to offer a sanitized version of events.
“Wouldn’t you?” Her mother sank onto the sofa. “I know you, daughter, and I can see you are about to do so.” She folded her arms. “Sit down, and let’s have it.”
Cecily wished Harry was here with her; her tongue tied in knots, and she couldn’t think clearly. It was hard to sort out how much she could say that her mother might accept. She swallowed and launched into the spiel that she and Harry had discussed.
“Well, there you are!” Her mother looked oddly satisfied. “A blatant lie! There has not been a caretaker at the castle for years. Mr. Phillips, whom you know, Cecily, because he has the grocery shop down the road from the florist’s, told me he’s employed to unlock the gates in the morning and lock them up at night.”
“Oh?” Cecily drew in a breath. “Then who was the man dressed in old-fashioned clothing? He said he was the caretaker.” She paused. “Did he say he was the caretaker? Or did we just assume it?”
“What are you talking about?” Her mother frowned. “You’ve been gone all night! What happened between you and Master Johnson?” She narrowed her eyes. “Did he force his attentions on you?”
“No, Mother! They accidentally locked us inside the castle. It was freezing. I was frightened. We saw…ghosts.”
“Ghosts?” Her mother jumped up. “Now you’re talking nonsense!”
“I’m not.” Cecily clutched her hands together. Their version of the story had dissolved into shreds.
Her mother’s lips thinned. “We shall go next door. I will demand that Harrison Johnson tell the truth. All of it!”
“Yes, it will be best, Mother.” Cecily rose, relieved. She wondered how Harry fared. Better than her, surely. She supposed she should not have mentioned the ghosts. What would he say happened to them? Would he mention Lady Margaret? She doubted they would believe it, for what reasonable person would?
She pushed her hair out of her eyes and realized she still wore her coat. There was mud on the hem, and she hadn’t had time to take off her boots. She’d trekked dirt onto the carpet. A wonder her mother hadn’t noticed. “I must change first.”
“No, you shall not. Let the Johnsons see what condition their son has brought you home in.”
Chapter Six
When Cecily andMrs. Dunstable were shown into the house, Harry’s parents fussed around them, his mother ordering tea while his father added coal to the fire in the grate and stoked it.
Mrs. Dunstable’s face was beetroot red, and she refused to greet Harry. Cecily made eye contact with a small nod of encouragement. He needed it. Not sure how to better explain what Cecily and he had been through, the ground seemed to be opening up beneath his feet. At the tinkle of the teacups heralding the appearance of the tea tray, he braced his shoulders and cleared his throat. Four expectant faces scrutinized him: Cecily and his mother hopeful, Mrs. Dunstable and his father doubting.
To give the matter the justice it deserved, he began at the beginning, where he first saw Lady Margaret’s ghost. Then he went on, sliding quickly over Cecily’s involvement and not mentioning the letter she left her mother. Harry described the castle, their meeting with the ghost, and finding the skeleton. He thought it prudent not to go into detail about the fearful happenings after that, except to explain how they were shut in and forced to spend the night huddled in a corner of the ruins before deciding to find a way out.
“We were fortunate to discover a break in the wall, escaped through it, and climbed down a steep hill. We then made our way to the road,” he said, noticing the stony faces had not softened a fraction.