Ghost Girl Page 3

  "Of course."

  "Any other languages?"

  "Latin, some Occitan, and a little Arabic."

  Occitan was an old language associated with the troubadours who roamed southern France in the middle ages. As to Arabic, it wasn't at all common for an Englishman to know.

  "Come," he said. "Show me to your master."

  "Mr. Langley is not my master. He's my friend's uncle."

  "You are not his ward?"

  "No. I'm visiting from London where I live with my niece and her husband at present. Before that I lived in Melbourne for some years, but I originated from London. I was born there, in fact." In a filthy lane, perhaps, or the crowded room of a tenement. I didn't know. My mother had died when I was young and my father was quite mad and hadn't been aware of my birth until my mother dumped me on him.

  "Melbourne? I have not heard of it."

  "It's in the colony of Victoria, on the other side of the world. It wasn't discovered in your time."

  His eyes widened in alarm. "How did you not fall off if it's on the other side?"

  I smiled. "A little thing called gravity."

  "Another invention? What does gravity look like?"

  My smile broadened. "It's not an invention, it just is. It's a complicated concept to explain, but suffice it to say, I did not fall off when I lived in Melbourne. Have you been to London, Quin?"

  He hesitated, but must have decided that answering wouldn't give away too much. "Twice."

  "What business did you have there?"

  "My business."

  "Where were you born?"

  "Not in London."

  "France, perhaps?"

  He looked offended. "I'm an Englishman."

  "From which county?"

  He didn't answer and I sighed. "Very well, be mysterious. I do think it unfair that I know nothing about you when you know a little about me now."

  "You know what you need to know. Come, show me to Langley's chambers. Then we eat."

  Quin walked beside me along the hallway, shortening his strides to keep in time with mine. His presence was more powerful than anything I'd ever felt from another human. Perhaps because he wasn't quite human, no matter that he had been born one. Or perhaps it was because he was semi-naked and the evidence of his strength was obvious.

  Langley's laboratory inhabited an entire wing of the second floor in the U-shaped house. Bollard opened the door upon my knock. His jaw fell open and if he'd been able to talk, I'm sure he would have been rendered speechless. He was, however, a mute.

  "Bollard, this is Quintin St. Clair, the otherworldly warrior who has saved my life. Quin, this is Bollard, assistant and valet to Mr. Langley."

  "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Quin said with a small bow. When Bollard continued to stare, Quin looked to me, one eyebrow arched.

  "Bollard," I said with as much authority as I dared muster. He wasn't a man I knew well, and I found him a little unnerving with his silent manner and hulking form. "It's good to see you back at Frakingham again."

  That seemed to get his attention. He looked me up and down as if inspecting me for signs of illness and, seeing none, smiled. It softened his appearance and instantly made him more likeable.

  "I'm sorry I wasn't well enough to welcome you home," I told him. "But I am glad that you're back, as is Sylvia. Now, do you think we may see Mr. Langley? We are in something of a hurry. Quin is hungry."

  Bollard stepped aside and we entered the laboratory. Langley watched us from his wheelchair, positioned at the nearest bench where he conducted his tests. Despite the presence of a number of test tubes, microscopes and other modern scientific equipment, it was the wheelchair that piqued Quin's interest. He bent down to study the wheels and then the blanket covering Langley's crippled legs. He must have realized why the chair was mobile and nodded his approval.

  "A useful device," he said.

  "Miss Moreau?" Langley said without taking his shrewd gray gaze off Quin. "Who is this and why is he unclothed?"

  "Quintin St. Clair, at your service, sir." Quin bowed. "I apologize for my attire, or lack of it. I altered my clothing some time ago, after discovering the sword is easier to wield when I'm not hindered by cloth. I had my hair cut for the same reasons. It used to get in my eyes."

  This was more information than he'd given me, and I was somewhat irked to have been refused answers that he'd freely given to Langley. Was it because I was a woman?

  I briefly explained to Langley that Quin was the warrior and he had come to keep me alive while we searched for the book of spells. Both Langley and Bollard listened, enraptured.

  When I finished, Langley shook his head sadly. "And what if the book cannot be found?"

  "It will be," Quin said with conviction that bolstered me. It was an option that I hadn't wanted to entertain, but had set up root in the back of my mind nevertheless.

  "It has to be," I agreed. "If not…" If not, I would die.

  Bollard gave me a grim yet encouraging smile, as if he had complete faith that we would find it.

  Langley was less optimistic but I knew from experience that it was his nature to be cautious. "I hope you're right, Cara. I am glad to see you looking like yourself again. You had us all worried. Sylvia has been beside herself."

  "I know. I'm sorry to have put you through that."

  "It's nothing you need apologize for. At least we know what caused it and how to cure you." He linked his fingers over his paunch. His hands seemed ethereally white against the crimson smoking jacket embroidered with gold dragons. "Will you begin the search at the ruins?"

  "I think so. Mr. Myer seemed to think the book is either located there, or clues to its whereabouts are buried at the site. We'll begin in the morning."

  He unlinked his fingers and placed them on the chair's wheels. He pushed himself closer to me until Bollard grabbed the chair's handles and took over the arduous task. "You must have word sent to Samuel and Charity. They left with your health under a cloud and were quite concerned."

  "Yes, of course."

  "When you say that Mr. St. Clair must reside close to you, how close?"

  "As near as possible."

  "Very near," Quin added. "Or she dies."

  I swallowed down my rising panic, but it didn't stop the back of my neck prickling.

  Langley nodded. "Then I suspect you will be sleeping in her bedroom. Cara, since you are under my roof, this poses a problem."

  "I understand, Mr. Langley." Any hint of impropriety would compromise me, and having a strange man in my room would be a most indecent, scandalous thing. My reputation would never recover and a young lady couldn't afford to lose her reputation. If she did, she could not marry well. While I didn't have marriage at the forefront of my mind, it was something I knew I must consider in the near future. The kinswoman of the future Viscountess Preston was expected to marry a gentleman of the highest quality. What was expected, however, and what I wanted, were two entirely different things. I had become used to the roughened gentlemen of the Antipodes. England's foppish ones were not to my taste at all.

  "We'll be sure Tommy is the only servant made aware of the circumstances," I told him. "To everyone else, Quin will be a distant family friend occupying a guest bedroom."

  "And how will you explain his presence here? How did he arrive? Nobody would have seen him."

  "We'll think of something over dinner."

  "I suggest you do, and quickly. Servants talk." He nodded at the door, dismissing us, but called to Quin before he exited. "If I learn that your motives are not honorable, Mr. St. Clair, I will find a way to have you sent straight to hell."

  I wasn't sure how he could manage that, but Quin didn't question him. "Cara will come to no harm from me, nor will any of her friends."

  Bollard rested his hand on Langley's shoulder, and I sensed that the small gesture communicated something between them but I didn't know what.

  Quin and I left and made our way downstairs just as the dinner gong sounded. Tomm
y served Quin, Sylvia and myself in the dining room. Langley and Bollard would dine together upstairs tonight. After all the recent visitors to Frakingham House, it was a quiet affair. Until Quin began to eat.

  He eyed his fork with suspicion then avoided it altogether. He stabbed a whole slice of beef with the point of his knife and proceeded to eat it without cutting it first. I watched with curiosity, but Sylvia and Tommy eyed him with growing expressions of horror. After he stuffed the entire piece into his mouth, he pulled over the plate of roasted chicken and tore off a leg with his hands. He then ate it with the enthusiasm of a half-starved man. Juices ran down his chin and onto his bare chest. I picked up his serviette and dabbed it off. Ordinarily such behavior would have Sylvia protesting, but she and Tommy were much too concerned with watching Quin consume everything edible within reach.

  "I've dined with some folks with poor habits before," Tommy muttered, "but his manners are something else entirely."

  "Dining forks are a relatively recent invention," I told him. "If Quin hasn't eaten in this realm since his—" Since his what? Death? "If Quin hasn't eaten for many years, he wouldn't have used them before."

  "Mr. St. Clair," Sylvia said loudly, as if speaking to a deaf man. "Watch me, if you please. This is how a gentleman eats." She took great pains to eat like a queen, only slicing off tiny portions then chewing with her mouth closed.

  "It would take me a long time to eat my fill if I ate like that," Quin observed. Nevertheless, he picked up his fork and copied Sylvia, sitting opposite him. He couldn't get the rhythm right and looked awkward, although he managed to cut into the chicken with sheer brute force.

  "Your fork should go in your left hand," I told him. He watched me, sitting beside him, and made a better show of it.

  The rest of the meal went by pleasantly enough, although he couldn't take his eyes off the jelly for a full five minutes after Maud the maid brought it in. He poked it, licked it, wobbled it, and finally thrust his hand into it as if scooping up a mud pile. Sylvia almost had a fit, but I couldn't stop giggling. Quin ate the entire thing.

  After dinner, we adjourned to the drawing room, including Tommy who insisted on remaining with us while Quin was present. We'd already decided to tell the other servants and the Harborough villagers that Quin was a relative of mine visiting from Melbourne. The exotic nature of that distant land would help explain his odd behavior and attire. We also discussed the sleeping arrangements. Sylvia and I would sleep in my bed, and Tommy and Quin would sleep on truckles pushed in after the other servants retired for the night. A screen would separate us. Quin seemed disinterested in our plans and took no part in the arrangements. All he did was stare at me with a curious expression on his face. I expected him to ask me questions, and more than once he seemed about to say something but stopped himself. Had he been going to ask me something personal? Why hadn't he?

  His hesitations did not stop me from asking him questions, however. "Tell us about your realm," I said.

  "I cannot."

  "Cannot or will not?"

  He didn't answer.

  "Very well. Tell me how you knew I was ill. I assume you don't attempt to save everyone dying from a curse."

  "You are special, Cara."

  I scooted forward on my chair. "I am? In what way?"

  "You are a medium and the curse was not intended for you."

  It didn't quite sound like a compelling enough reason for a complete stranger—a warrior, no less—to bring me back to health, but I let the matter slide. Clearly Quin didn't want to tell me much. Very well. I would let him have his secrets.

  For now.

  CHAPTER 3

  I'd never slept in the same room as a man before. It was an odd experience. Tommy's snoring and Sylvia's tossing kept me awake. Every time she moved, she kicked me in the shin. However, my lack of sleep had a lot to do with Quin on the other side of the screen positioned at the foot of my bed. He didn't make a sound and I began to wonder if he even needed to sleep at all.

  Curiosity eventually got the better of me, and I climbed out of bed. Usually it was completely dark in my room at night, but Tommy had insisted on keeping a candle burning on the mantel in case he needed to get up and protect us. It provided just enough light for me to see Quin when I poked my head around the edge of the screen. He lay on his back without blankets covering him. He still wore his leather pants and no shirt. Tommy lay on the truckle beside him, sound asleep. So much for our protector.

  I ventured around the screen to get a better look. Quin lay with his hands resting on his stomach, a pose that reminded me of the effigies of long-dead medieval kings carved into stone. He'd removed his sword, but placed it within reach at his side. He claimed to have cut his hair, but it was still longish and splayed on the pillow around his head like a dark aura. The flickering light from the single candle turned his skin golden and cast shadows beneath his cheekbones and eyes. He really was a remarkable specimen, as Sylvia liked to call him. No Englishman I'd met had such a compelling presence, or a face as masculine and handsome as Quin's. I couldn't take my eyes off it. Oh wait, I could, just long enough to admire his shoulders, chest and stomach. His body had probably been honed from fighting against otherworldly creatures, yet was that what he'd always done? He said he was human, yet he clearly wasn't. At least not anymore. So what was he?

  His eyes suddenly opened, sending me reeling backward into the screen. I rescued it before it toppled and woke up the others. "You're awake," he whispered, sitting up.

  I tried to appear sophisticated despite being dressed in nothing but my nightgown. "I, er…that is, yes. I couldn't sleep. A lot has happened today and I'm finding it hard to digest it all."

  "Digest?"

  "Comprehend. What about you? Why can't you sleep?"

  He raised one knee and rested his arm on it. "I don't feel tired."

  "You can't get tired?"

  "I don't know."

  I edged forward. "How can you not know? You've been to this realm before."

  "I haven't stayed long here in the past. This is the longest time."

  "Why?"

  "My work usually takes mere moments to complete. I kill the demons then I return to my realm." He shrugged in a nonchalant way that reminded me of my father, a typical Frenchman's shrug.

  "So you have never stayed overnight?"

  "No."

  It was interesting that he told me that much. The fact he had not stayed overnight convinced me that he had never kept anyone cursed with a supernatural illness alive before. I was his first.

  "Perhaps you simply don't require sleep, not being from this realm."

  "Perhaps."

  "Yet you were from this realm, once, long ago."

  He gave me that quirk of a smile again. "You're asking questions of me without posing them as questions. That is—"

  "Clever?"

  "I was going to say devious."

  I smiled. "We females must use all the wiles available to us."

  His face darkened and closed up, as if shutting off his expressions to hide them from me. "Aye. Very devious."

  His reaction made me think that a woman had featured in his life. A devious woman who'd caused him problems. A human woman, or some other creature?

  "You are quite the mystery, Quin."

  "My apologies, Cara."

  "Don't apologize, just answer my questions."

  He turned his face away.

  "What happened to you? Why did you go from being human to being…an angel?"

  "I told you," he whispered harshly, "I am no angel. I am a warrior. Warriors fight. We do not answer questions from devious maidens who do not know when to keep their mouths shut." He lay flat on his back and squeezed his eyes shut.

  I sniffed. "Well. There's no need to be rude."

  ***

  We spent the entire morning searching for signs of the book's location down at the ruins, but without knowing what we were looking for, it was an impossible task. We studied patterns in the fallen s
tones, inspected them for inscriptions, and even dug some up. But there was a vast number of stones scattered across the site and much of the old abbey's foundations were still buried.

  I was pleased to see that the ghosts of Garrett and Owens had disappeared, although I would have liked to have given Mr. Garret a piece of my mind. It was thanks to him that I was breaking my fingernails and getting my knees dirty, not to mention dying.

  "This is hopeless," I said when my stomach growled in the early afternoon. Maud had delivered tea and cake mid-morning, but Quin had eaten all of it under her appalled gaze.

  "You're right." Tommy sat against a low wall and tipped his head back to expose his face to the late spring sunshine. His hands were filthy and he'd smeared some dirt across his sweaty forehead. He'd done a marvelous job of digging alongside Quin, and seemed quite exhausted, poor fellow. "We could dig up the whole site and still find nothing. There must be a better way."

  I sat back on my haunches and surveyed what we'd achieved in one morning. Piles of dirt and stones looked like small, pathetic blobs on a vast canvas. The abbey would have been huge in its time, only about half the length of the current house, but just as high. Its rubble seemed to go on and on.

  "It is hopeless," I muttered, tears pricking my eyes. "We can't possibly search it all, even if we knew what we were looking for." I swiped at a tear as it fell from my left eye.

  Quin sat beside me, very close but not touching, and stretched out his longs legs. His presence lifted my spirits a little. "You must not give up hope, Cara. We'll find the book."

  "But not this way."

  "Then we'll find another way."

  "There is no other way. If there were, Myer would have discovered it already and gone down that path instead of doing what we're doing."

  "Who is this Myer?"

  "A gentleman that nobody particularly likes."

  "Including his wife," Tommy chimed in.

  "He's very rich and is obsessed with the supernatural. He's actually the master of the Society for Supernatural Activity, a group of gentlemen and ladies with an interest in all things paranormal. Myer knows a lot, but it seems he wishes to know more."