The Ghost of Glendale Read online

  “We have come at a bad time, I can tell. You are busy with your housekeeper and must wish us in Jericho.”

  Phoebe was surprised to find him so observant and said so. “I’m sorry if I gave you that impression and it’s not the case. It is just that I returned to the house to find a letter from my aunt. She is to descend upon us within the week for what I envisage will be an extended stay. There is much to do but it can wait. I apprehend you are anxious to see the room of which I spoke?”

  “I am, but not just now. I came only to thank you again and to pay my respects to your father.”

  “Come on then, old man. He’ll be in his library for sure. I’ll take you there now.”

  The two men left the hall and Phoebe went again to find Mrs Wiggins to discuss accommodation for her aunt and her cousin Lydia who was to accompany her mama. Phoebe was fond of her cousin whose features and temperament strongly reminded her of her own mother, but she could have wished her aunt elsewhere.

  With her housewifely duties out of the way Phoebe went in search of her father, for it could not be anticipated that Aunt Sophia was coming to Glendale merely to rusticate. She would expect to be entertained and she knew the forthcoming visit would sorely tax Papa. She found Sir Edward alone in the library, Rupert and Duncan having left a short while before.

  “Nice young man is Armstrong. I like the cut of his jib. No airs and graces about him. I told him he could come and eat his mutton with me any time.”

  “That’s all very well, Papa, but we shall have Aunt Sophia upon us soon and there is much to be done. We will have to hold a dinner party and a soirée or two. Yes, I know,” she said, a delightful grin transforming her features, “it is not what you would wish but it won’t be so bad. Lydia will be persuaded by her mother to sing and play the harp.” Here she actually chuckled for her father’s face told its own story. “You must not blame the poor girl. With my aunt it is sometimes more comfortable to submit than to cross her will, but I do not envy my cousin. She is quite retiring until she knows one well I believe and I can only imagine how mortified she will feel if asked to perform in front of strangers.”

  “Well I ain’t a stranger and I have no intention of encouraging her.”

  “You will not be required to do so for her mother will be before you. It isn’t the evenings I am concerned about but what we are to do during the daytime if this heat continues. We could have a picnic in one of the clearings in the home wood. Or perhaps by the lake in the shade of the willow trees,” Phoebe said, warming to her theme. “Riding will be out of the question, both on account of the weather and because Lydia has no fondness for horses. Sadly she is afraid of them. Perhaps a carriage ride would suit her, but would my aunt like it?”

  Edward grunted. Phoebe sighed. “I know. So much to do. I shall not break your head any longer, just my own, but I thought I should warn you of what lies ahead.”

  “I suppose you will do as you must. I wonder how long Armstrong remains at Cranford. He seems an amiable enough fellow and could prove helpful in the entertainment of our guests.”

  “Papa, you are abominable!” Phoebe said, a smile chasing the frown from her face. “The poor man has come to stay with his friend and you are preparing to engage him in order not to exert yourself. You are without shame.” But there was an appreciative gleam in her eye as she left him to his own devices and went to make a list of the various distractions she might arrange for their guests.

  “You will forgive me I hope for calling at such an unseasonable hour but Beau was anxious to see Jester again,” Duncan said the next morning with an engaging smile. “I thought you might be repeating your early start of yesterday. But I see you are not dressed for riding. The poor lad must wait for another time. I will leave you to get on.”

  “No don’t. It would be heartless of me to dash his anticipation. You could not be more welcome, for I have been torn between my duties here and my desire to be out. You are just the excuse I need,” Phoebe said smiling. “If you would but give me ten minutes to change. Perhaps you would oblige me by asking Will to have Jester saddled and ready. You know the way. We do not stand upon ceremony here.”

  “Do you need an excuse to take your horse out?” Duncan asked twenty minutes later when to his surprise they were mounted and on their way, he having placed little reliance on Phoebe being ready as quickly as she had promised.

  “Only to ease my conscience. Normally I am free to do as I please but my aunt’s impending visit has laid a burden upon me. But I should not be speaking so. You must think me very ungracious.”

  “Good heavens, no,” he said, laughing loudly. “Nothing was ever truer said than one may choose one’s friends but is apt to be saddled with one’s relatives. I avoid mine as much as I can.”

  “Do you not then rub along with your brother and your mother, whom I believe you said lives there too? I am excessively fond of Papa. Indeed I prefer his company to that of most other men.”

  “Well that’s put me in my place, hasn’t it?”

  “What! No. I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t.”

  “I was just teasing. Now let us draw truce for we have reached the woods and I think it only fair to give these two their rein.”

  No more was said for a while as they cantered along the bridle track, drawing to a halt at the same time as if from an unseen signal between them. Phoebe drew her brows together in a frown and Duncan asked immediately if something was amiss.

  “Only that my conscience is bearing down upon me. I fear I must return to the house. I have many invitations to write and none to help me. Are you staying long with Rupert, do you know?”

  “Are you asking me to help you address the task? My hand is appalling I must tell you. Even I cannot sometimes read what I have written.”

  “Heavens no, I wouldn’t presume as much. I was just wondering if I might include you on my list.”

  “I am fixed in Somerset for a while and would be delighted to accept any invitation you might be kind enough to bestow upon me.”

  “Don’t commit yourself so easily,” Phoebe said with a ready smile. “You are chosen because my father has taken a liking to you. I have no hesitation in telling you that he finds my aunt too busy. She wears him out. Your dual role will be to draw her attention from him and also provide conversation that will be more to his liking.”

  “I will do whatever I can to lighten your burden,” Duncan said, serious again and causing her to wonder why she should find his remark so reassuring. She professed that she must return to Glendale and left him to make his own way back to Cranford, reflecting that within two days she had come to regard Duncan Armstrong as a man one could turn to in times of difficulty. She would be sad indeed when he removed himself from the neighbourhood.

  Chapter Three

  The next few days flew by. Duncan’s help proved to be invaluable and he was always ready to place himself at her disposal. To Mrs Wiggins he proved to be an ally, insisting on one occasion of relieving her of the tea tray. “Allow me to take this to the master. I know you have much to do and I would speak to him anyway.” Mrs Wiggins was not above taking advantage of his good nature. Since her mistress’s demise there had been little entertaining at Glendale and the servants were being stretched beyond what they were used to. She was glad to accept any small gesture when that nice Mr Armstrong stepped into the breach. Nor was she blind.

  Phoebe and Duncan rode every morning before the work of the day began and six days after receiving her aunt’s letter all was in readiness. They spoke often during their daily rides of Armstrong’s travels, he entertaining her with tales of conversations in broken Italian and of the time an innkeeper had tried to gull him into accepting inferior accommodation. “I soon put him to rights.” But mostly her eyes would light up when he talked about the paintings he’d seen, the fine glass he’d found in Venice and the marbles that would forever remind him of Rome.

  “Now that all is prepared I think it is time to show you the Long Gallery, un
less Mrs Wiggins has given you some commission or other and you have already seen it.”

  “Even had she done so, I would have refused to oblige her. This was something you and I had agreed upon at our first meeting and I would not forego that for anything.”

  He was so disarming that Phoebe felt she had known him for months, rather than barely a week. She was as at ease in his company as she was in Rupert’s. It would be prudent, she knew, to maintain a certain distance but she found it impossible to do so, so well did his cheerful manner match her own. Who knew though when he might be once more off upon his adventures. She would miss him, of that she was well aware, for it wasn’t in her nature to delude herself. Well she would just have to face the situation when it arose.

  “Then let us go now before we are called upon to do something else.”

  Phoebe gasped as she entered the gallery for in spite of the intense heat outside it felt icy cold. She looked at Duncan and it was evident from his expression that he was experiencing the same sensation, one dark heavy brow raised in question.

  “I have been here many times but never before have I felt his presence so strongly.”

  “It would seem your ancestor is trying to tell us something.”

  “You believe that!”

  “There are many unexplained things in this world and to dismiss them out of hand would be foolish. Come,” he said, taking one of hers, “let us walk the length of the room and see if anything happens.”

  Phoebe chose to disregard the effect his touch had upon her and would indeed have been reluctant to withdraw her hand from his. The iciness dissipated a little but returned with full force as they came abreast of a statue said to be of Simon Marcham and his lost love. The couple were entwined in what was all too obviously a loving embrace. Phoebe found she was gripping Duncan’s hand rather tightly.

  “Allow me to introduce you to my great great great…I know not how many greats …grandfather.”

  “The family ghost?”

  “The very same.”

  “Perhaps now might be the time for you to tell me his story but first let us adjourn to another room.”

  Phoebe was happy to do so. She had never before felt uncomfortable with Simon’s ghost but today’s experience had taken on a whole new dimension. She did not feel it right to talk about her ancestor in front of him. Whatever am I saying, she thought, but there was the realisation that she had always been convinced there was some truth in the story, blasé though she might seem to be.

  “So you see, there was no way they would be allowed to marry. There was conflict between their families and they were torn apart. It was Simon who found her lying under a tree in the home wood, or so the story goes. He was inconsolable and for many years became reclusive. Eventually, realising it was his duty to continue the family name, he married without love and produced an heir. Lucky he did or I would not be standing before you today,” Phoebe said, trying to lighten the tone. Duncan, though, was still looking serious.

  “Poor man. No wonder it is so cold in there. His soul is not at rest.”

  “And it is said it never will be until his secret is discovered.”

  “What secret is that?”

  “That’s the trouble. Nobody knows.”

  “Then we must make it our business to find out, for he is in torment.”

  Phoebe could only be amazed that this huge bulk of a man held so sensitive a spirit. Most would have ridiculed such a suggestion and so she told him.

  “I have handled many pieces of antiquity. Some are cold to the touch and some, even though carved from stone, have a warmth when one’s hand is laid upon them. I did not touch Simon’s statue today. I wanted first to hear his story. Forgive me for being presumptuous but do you hold any records that might give us a clue?”

  “There are a few accounts; people’s experiences of encountering Simon in the gallery, records of the date he withdrew from the world and again when he emerged from seclusion.”

  “I would see them if I may.”

  Phoebe, realising there was in this man a genuine desire to help, told him she would fetch them immediately, for they were sitting in her mother’s withdrawing room. It had an airiness about it, the mahogany doors a good deal lighter than the oak to be found in much of the rest of the house. The fretwork motif of the doors was replicated around four hand-painted panels that adorned the walls. It was an altogether feminine room and even after all these years Phoebe could feel her mother’s presence there. Her father could no longer bring himself to enter as it reminded him too acutely of his loss but for Phoebe it was a sanctuary.

  It seemed Emily Marcham had been intrigued by the tale and insisted that she had several times encountered Simon’s ghost. She had gathered what information she could and it was stored now in a chest within a flat fronted mahogany sideboard that stood beneath his portrait. Phoebe had just placed the chest on the table when the sound of horses was heard through the open window.

  “Oh no, it is my aunt! Isn’t it just like her to come at this moment!”

  Duncan smiled. “I think perhaps we can excuse her for not knowing how bad is her timing. May I take this with me back to Cranford?”

  “Forgive me, no. I would not have it leave the house. You are welcome any time to look at its contents with me for I too cannot wait to study them. Drat the woman, it would seem that waiting is exactly what I shall have to do.”

  Duncan slipped away through the back of the house, promising to come back next morning for their customary ride and assuring Phoebe that should she feel the need of his support she need only send a message and he could be with her in no time.

  “Aunt Sophia, how lovely to see you again so soon,” Phoebe said with a calm she was far from feeling. “And Lydia. Did you travel well, for I know it is a tedious journey?”

  “Very well indeed, for James is aware of my problem and took great care.”

  Her mother looked pityingly at her as she handed a grossly over-decorated hat to the footman whose face was so wooden that Phoebe was hard put not to smile. Baroness Talbot, a robust woman, had never suffered any degree of sickness when travelling and had little sympathy for her daughter, feeling certain she could overcome her affliction if only she would try. Phoebe was far more compassionate and suggested her cousin might like to be shown to her room to recover.

  “I would indeed, Phoebe,” Lydia said, smiling ruefully. “Would that I could accustom myself but long distances always leave me burned out and no amount of resolution overcomes the problem.”

  “And you, Aunt Sophia, would you care to retire for a while?”

  “No, I thank you, I shall first see Edward.”

  Phoebe summoned the footman to escort her aunt, and accompanied Lydia to her room. She knew she should have diverted her aunt but for the moment her cousin’s needs were greater. By the time the younger girl had removed her bonnet and her luggage had been deposited she was in a good way to being recovered.

  “I can’t think why it is, Phoebe, and I know Mama has no patience with me. I have always enjoyed walking. Any outdoor recreation. It is the motion that defeats me.”

  Lydia looked up into her cousin’s expressive brown eyes, her own startlingly blue ones brimming with tears.

  “Don’t distress yourself. You are fagged to death. What you need is a period of repose and you will be in much better frame in no time. I will draw the curtains for I cannot imagine this bright sunlight is helping.”

  “You are right. I have a headache and feel you must think me a very poor creature.”

  “Not at all,” Phoebe said, looking over her shoulder as she pulled the drapes together. “I shall leave you now and return in plenty of time to take you to supper.”

  Phoebe did not think Lydia a poor creature. She could readily believe that hours spent in a coach with her aunt would be enough to exhaust even the most sturdy of creatures. She closed the door gently behind her, certain that her cousin would be asleep before she reached her father’s library. Pausing
outside her father’s sanctum for just long enough to set her features in a welcoming smile, Phoebe entered the room. It was immediately evident that he was not well pleased although fortunately Aunt Sophia was not well enough acquainted with him to realise.

  “Ah, Phoebe. I trust my niece is settled. Be good enough to escort your aunt to the drawing room. I shall join you shortly when I have finished my business here.”

  Nothing could have been more affable than his tone but the glint in his eye warned that he would deal with her later. Oh dear, she thought, and so soon after my aunt’s arrival. As for him joining them shortly, she placed little reliance on the statement. It would be left to Phoebe to entertain her aunt for the rest of the afternoon. The drawing room to which Edward had referred was not her mother’s room. No more than her father would Phoebe invite her to that private area. The place that was customarily used for entertaining was quite a dark room, the colour on the old panelling having further deepened with the passage of years. Sophia however was impressed for to her it declared the heritage of the old house. She had only once before visited Glendale. Her sister, aware of her husband’s antipathy both to Sophia Talbot and her now deceased husband, had not issued more than the one invitation. It was Emily who had travelled to London in times gone by. Phoebe too had visited the capital during her first Season and her aunt, to her credit, had generously but unsuccessfully tried to see her established. It was not an experience she had wished to repeat and her father made no push to insist she did so.

  “I admit I was astonished to find how grown you are when you came to us for Clarissa’s wedding though of course it had been six years since last I’d seen you.”

  “But, Aunt Sophia, I have been this tall for many years,” Phoebe replied innocently, her wayward sense of humour unable to resist teasing. The lady understandably appeared irritated.

  “You misunderstand me. I meant that the inexperienced girl I knew had become a mature young woman. Have you no thought to your future? You must be deemed to be almost beyond making a good match.”