One More Haunted Evening Page 7

  “To a family of barbaric Romans…”

  “Who sent her to her chambers crying every night.”

  As if snapping from a trance, they both looked to one another and then burst into laughter.

  “You are quite the storyteller, Miss Matilda.”

  “As are you,” she replied with a genteel smile. “And please…my friends call me Tilly.”

  “Am I to count myself amongst your friends so soon? You hardly know me.”

  “True. But I know about you, and against my better judgment, I am, indeed, counting you amongst my friends.”

  He stepped closer to her, veritably sucking all the air from her lungs. “My friends call me Garrick, but you…you shall call me Sidney.”

  “Oh!” Patience called. “I think I found something.”

  Quent’s attention shot to his sister who was quite a distance away, near an old wall that had probably once been a bathhouse. “What did you find?” he called back, pushing up to his feet, then helping Miss Southward find hers.

  Damn it all, just a touch of her hand sent lust shooting through him. She met his eyes, staring up at him with such innocence, such beauty. Honest to God, if he wasn’t searching for his angel…

  “I think it’s a coin, Quent.” Patience rushed toward him with Grace and Hope trailing after her. A beautiful smile lit up his sister’s face as she rubbed something between her fingers. “An ancient Roman coin!”

  “Huh.” Garrick came up behind the triplets with Miss Matilda in tow. “Well, we are in the right place for it.”

  “Let’s see,” Quent reached his hand out to his sister, and she dropped the relic into his palm. It certainly was an ancient coin, a silver one at that, he would wager from the feel of it. The edges weren’t perfectly rounded and it was rather dirty from wherever Patience had dug it up.

  Quent pulled out his handkerchief and smoothed as much of the dirt from the coin as he could. It was definitely silver, with a tiny bit of crystallization.

  “It looks like,” he began, peering closer at the coin and rubbing it with one of his fingers, “a woman.” Then he nodded, certain he was correct. “Yes, yes. In fact, she has wavy hair that is knotted in a queue and trails down the side of her neck.” He squinted at the coin to make out the letters around the edge. “Sabina Augusta Hadriani AVG, P.P.” He flipped the coin over and squinted at it once more. “And here she is sitting down and holding a scepter.”

  “Sabina Augusta Hadriani?” Patience echoed.

  “Exactly.” Quent grinned at his sister. “Do you know what you’ve found?”

  “A coin that says Sabina Augusta Hadriani,” Grace answered cheekily.

  She had such a sharp tongue. God help the fellow whoever married her someday. “Mmm.” Quent nodded, narrowing his eyes on that particular sister. “And do you know what that means, Grace?”

  She tilted her head to the side, grinned, and said, “That her name was Sabina Augusta Hadriani?”

  “Well, yes,” he begrudgingly replied. “Sort of. Vibia Sabina was the wife of the Emperor Hadrian, you might have heard of him.”

  “May I see it?” Garrick asked.

  Quent shot Patience a look, since it was her coin; at her nod, he handed the artifact to Sidney Garrick to inspect.

  Garrick squinted at the coin and turned it over in his hand a couple of times. Then he shook his head. “You must have the eyes of a cat. I can barely make out any of the letters,” he said.

  “Well, you haven’t spent as much time looking at these things as I have.”

  “Apparently,” his friend handed the coin back to Quent. “Still—” he smiled in Patience’s direction “—it is a very lovely find to have made, my lady. You are quite fortunate.”

  “The Romans were here until the end of the 4th Century,” Lila Southward said, drawing Quent’s attention from the artifact back to the pretty brunette once more.

  “In which case, finding a coin from Hadrian’s rule is even more remarkable.”

  “You didn’t strike me as an ancient Roman scholar, my lord,” she said, her silvery eyes focused solely on him in surprise.

  He had certainly done his fair share of studying the subject, having always found ancient Rome vastly fascinating. “No?” he asked, wondering what she did think of him. “What did I strike you as?”

  Her smile lit up her face. “The fun one, or so you told me when we first met.”

  Quent couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, in comparison to Braden, I am the fun one. Hardly a contest, my dear.”

  “So the 4th Century, you say?” Garrick glanced over at one of the still standing walls and asked, “When did the Romans arrive here, I wonder?”

  “Early in the 2nd Century,” Miss Matilda answered.

  “Ravenglass was a thriving Roman port and these ruins here are what is left of the fort and bathhouse.” Lila agreed with a nod of her head.

  “There was an entire settlement here,” her sister added. “Glannoventa, it was called. And the fort housed a garrison of five hundred soldiers.”

  “Not that it was always peaceful,” Lila said. “Even with that many soldiers in residence.”

  “Conquering Romans were rarely the peaceful sort,” Quent returned.

  “Indeed.” The pretty brunette smiled in agreement. “The first years were fraught with Celtic resistance and Roman force. There’s a tale—” she frowned a bit as though trying to remember the story properly “—about a local chieftain. A brave and strong Celt.”

  “Cynbel,” Miss Matilda added. “Nobel and true, they said. He was as large as a mountain with arms the width of tree trunks.”

  “That sounds a bit embellished,” Garrick muttered, though he looked thoroughly charmed by the girl.

  “Cynbel was respected and admired by his people. They would have done anything for him,” Lila said.

  “He resisted the Romans,” Miss Matilda continued. “He and his people.” Then she winced like she didn’t want to tell the rest.

  “Well…?” Grace asked. “What happened?”

  Quent had a fairly good idea. If you surrendered to Rome, you were enslaved. If you defied Rome, you were slaughtered. And it didn’t sound as though Cynbel was the surrendering sort, not with tree trunks for arms. “Well, the Romans were here for hundreds of years, so I think we can safely assume that Cynbel’s rebellion did not turn out well for the Celts and leave it at that.”

  Miss Matilda agreed with a quick nod. “That does sound best.”

  Grace heaved an irritated sigh and Quent shot her a look.

  “I’m fairly certain you don’t want to know what happened to the man,” he told his most stubborn sister.

  “Or his family,” Miss Matilda added.

  “His family?” Patience gasped. “The Romans harmed his family?”

  “It was generally best to surrender,” Quent muttered. If one considered slavery preferable to death

  “He had children?” Hope asked, horror splashed across her face.

  “We shouldn’t have said anything,” Lila said softly. “Please forget that we mentioned anything at all.”

  “I’m afraid we must know now,” Grace said. “Or our minds will conjure up all sorts of unpleasantness and I, for one, would just rather know the truth.”

  “The truth,” Quent began, “is that no man is as large as a mountain or has arms the size of tree trunks.”

  “It could depend on the size of the tree,” Patience said. “A small ash tree is quite possible, I would think.”

  Quent scrubbed a hand down his face. His sisters truly could be infuriating. “Very well, you really want to know? Tell them, Miss Southward, go ahead and tell them what happened to Cynbel and his family. They won’t stop until you do.”

  Lila Southward sucked in a breath, looking quite uncomfortable and Quent wished he hadn’t just lost his temper.

  “Well, the general tortured and killed Cynbel’s wife and children,” she said softly. “He was made to watch before the legion killed him too.”
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  “He did curse the general with his dying breath, however,” Miss Matilda added. “And the general died himself within the week.”

  “Oh, well, then, a happy ending,” Garrick said rather brightly. “Let’s do change the subject, shall we? How about the upcoming masquerade?” He smiled at the Southward sisters. “Do you have your costumes already prepared?”

  Miss Matilda shook her head. “Papa would never let us attend such an event, Mr. Garrick. You shall have to tell us all about it afterwards.”

  “Certainly you were there last year,” he pressed.

  “A word with you, Garrick,” Quent said quickly as a bit of panic seized his heart. If Garrick realized the Southward sisters had not been at last year’s Samhain, then he would realize Lila couldn’t possibly be Quent’s missing angel and he might very well try to pursue the brunette – which shouldn’t truly be any of Quent’s business, but…Well, he just didn’t want that outcome for the girl. Lila Southward was too innocent for Sidney Garrick, too sweet and too innocent. And he had to keep his friend from doing something that he shouldn’t.

  “Tell me, Miss Southward, why did you run away from me last year at the masquerade?”

  She practically choked on her ham sandwich. Perhaps he should have waited until she’d finished swallowing before he posed the question.

  “I didn’t run away from you.”

  “I recall that you clearly did.”

  “When?”

  “You were gone when I returned with the punch you so sweetly asked me to retrieve.”

  For a moment he thought she’d forgotten and then her lovely cheeks started to turn a pale pink. “Yes, well, my cousin reminded me of the time, and I needed to return to my home.”

  That would explain her disappearance, but it wasn’t all that late. At least not by London standards, but this was a small village.

  “We weren’t even supposed to be there.”

  This surprised him.

  “I wasn’t exactly invited, but even if I had been, my uncle would have forbidden it.”

  “Uncle?” Blast! Why hadn’t he made the connection before? “Your uncle is Vicar Southward?” He hadn’t met the man but had heard nothing pleasant about him.

  Miss Southward grimaced. “Yes. He didn’t approve of the masquerade, the guests, the owners, or even my dearest friend, who happens to be Brighid.”

  So, perhaps she did know Chetwey’s wife was a witch.

  “Was that the reason for your intriguing Italian accent?”

  She glance away as if she were unable to meet his eyes. “I was afraid someone from Ravenglass might recognize me…and it also added to the fun of the night by pretending to be a mysterious lady.” She glanced up and gave him a bashful smile. “You must think me silly.”

  David couldn’t help but be enchanted. “Hardly silly, but certainly intriguing.”

  Biting her bottom lip, she glanced up at him through her lashes.

  “You attended regardless of your uncle’s objections.” He did appreciate a little adventure in a lady.

  “How could I not?” Her eyes widened with excitement as she looked up. “We’re lucky to hold a few assemblies around here each year, and they aren’t exactly the most exhilarating events, I assure you.”

  David couldn’t help but chuckle. He was raised in a similar small village and nothing of consequence ever happened there.

  “And, of course, I couldn’t just wait at home to see if Brighid brought Callie back.”

  David stilled and looked over at Miss Southward. “You know about that?”

  “Of course,” she dismissed with a shrug. “If you hadn’t been part of making sure Mrs. Routledge was banished, I’d have never said anything.”

  David placed his plate aside, intrigued. How could she know so much, unless Brighid told her? He thought it was all to remain secret. And, Miss Southward hadn’t been anywhere near the castle, at least not until the night of the masquerade. He would have certainly noticed her before had she been there.

  “Do you remember the poppet she threw into the fire?”

  He nodded.

  “I made that for Brighid, after painting Lady Routledge’s likeness on the face.” Anna shivered as if chilled. “After sketching her face from a portrait in the gallery, I then went to the herbarium to make and paint the poppet. I was certain Lady Routledge knew what I was about and was going to jump out and take me away too.”

  David would like to have laughed at her suggestion, but he’d probably have felt the same way. As long as he lived, he’d never forget the night they banished the evil spirit for eternity.

  The easel was right behind her and many of her supplies. Did she dare ask? Just because David Thorn sat for her before, did not mean he would sit for her again. Especially on a chilly morning, on the beach, while his clothing was still wet. But, to have the chance to even sketch him this way, was beyond anything Anna thought she’d ever get the opportunity to attempt.

  Anna cleaned up the remains of their breakfast as she gathered her nerves. Other than the ham and bread, there’d been hard cooked eggs, a few apples and a jug of water. Simple, plain and filling. Mr. Thorn handed his plate to her, his light brown eyes meeting hers, a devilish twinkle in their depths.

  Flustered, Anna glanced away, certain that twinkle was only her imagination. After all, he was sitting there, in his shirtsleeves, collar open at the neck, his dark, thick hair tussled, and a shadow of facial hair along his strong jawline, as if he hadn’t bothered to shave in some time, and he didn’t appear to be uncomfortable in the least.

  After closing the basket, Anna glimpsed at him from beneath her lashes. “I don’t wish to be presumptuous, or make you uncomfortable, but I’d like to ask a favor of you.”

  He lifted a dark eyebrow in question but didn’t say a word.

  Perhaps this was a bad idea. Something warned her that Mr. Thorn could be a very dangerous man. Not that he’d physically harm her, but her heart was an entirely different matter.

  And, if anyone did come across them, it would be all over for her. Not only would her reputation be ruined, completely and without question, but Uncle Walter would probably lock her in her room for the rest of her life.

  Everything inside Anna warned her to bring this meeting to an end, return to her home, and attend to her needlepoint. But, when would she ever get another chance like this? Gentlemen like David Thorn never came to Ravenglass but once a year and none of the men who actually lived in the village were worth looking at, let alone spending hours to study their features so that she could sketch them.

  With a prayer that she wouldn’t regret this, Anna tossed caution to the wind. “Might I sketch you again?” Goodness her face was hot. Maybe it was simply from the stinging wind, though deep in her heart, Anna knew it was from embarrassment.

  A smile pulled at one corner of his full lips and Anna’s heart pounded.

  Instead of answering, Mr. Thorn asked, “Why?”

  All she could do was blink at him. She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth. “Um,… because…, um…I was unable to see you as clearly that night…it was dark at the party…you see it made your likeness difficult to capture.” Yes, that was a good enough response. “I already know all the faces in the village, but yours is new.”

  All he did was chuckle then leaned to the side to support himself on his elbow. He then bent one leg while the other remained outstretched. “I am all yours, Miss Southward.”

  Anna swallowed, her throat becoming incredibly dry as she reached for her sketch pad and pencil. She’d only had a chance to draw his face before, but she wasn’t going to stop there. Not the way he was laid out for her to feast her eyes upon.

  “Will you be attending the masquerade this year?”

  “I wasn’t invited.”

  “That didn’t stop you before.”

  Anna glimpsed up in time to see Mr. Thorn wink at her.

  Drat, she’d never be able to sketch him correctly if her hands kept shaking like
this. What was wrong with her? She hadn’t been nervous before. Of course, she wasn’t hiding behind a mask and a fake Italian accent now. Last year had been about the adventure. She’d originally intended just to catch the partygoers and costumes in her sketchbook until she saw him. Unable to help herself, Anna had ignored everyone else and asked him to sit for her.

  This was different. He knew who she was now. What if he told his friends about this encounter? Would they tell others until it eventually made the rounds back to Uncle Walter?

  She could always deny the rumors, of course, but she detested lying more than anything. So just in case, no matter what she sketched today, they would go into the hidden compartment beneath the floorboards with the rest of her drawings.

  “I promise, Miss Southward, you will receive an invitation.”

  That didn’t mean she could go. “That probably wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Why?”

  “My uncle! He would never allow me to attend.”

  “As with the other circumstance, that didn’t seem to stop you before.”

  Nor did she intend to let it stop her this time.

  Tilly couldn’t help the little snort of laughter that escaped her when Lord Quentin demanded a private audience with Sidney. He looked like a recalcitrant five year old, preparing to be properly scolded by his nanny. The poor dear. Lord Quentin seemed like he could be quite overbearing, though apparently not nearly so much as his elder brother. Watching him now, that seemed hard to believe.

  “I am sorry for telling that tale,” Lila said suddenly. “It was a horrible thing to tell.”

  “I feel much better knowing the Roman general died within the week,” Lady Grace replied. “That does seem just, does it not?”

  “Oh, will you stop touching those emeralds!” Lady Patience looked as if she wanted to clock her sister over the head. In truth, the girl had been rather obsessed with the jewels today.

  “I can’t help it.” Lady Hope reached up and fondled the emerald earbob. “Henry says they match my eyes.”

  Lady Grace let out an unladylike snort. Tilly rather thought she was her favorite of the three girls. “Then they match my eyes too.”