Page 11 of The Lady in White
“Well, I’m on the verge of making it much worse, I’m afraid. But first, tell me about Caroline Farris.”
The last thing he’d expected was to hear that name from Louisa. In truth, he rarely spoke of Caroline to anyone. “She was my uncle’s ward. We grew up here together.”
“And you were in love,” she said. There was no accusation in her voice. It was merely an observation.
He considered his answer carefully. “I thought I was, but we were very young. So young that I think neither of us was capable of really loving someone. Had she lived, we would have married, and we might have been happy together... but I do not know. I’m not certain anyone who is a member of this family is capable of love.”
“How did she die?”
A sigh escaped him. He didn’t talk about Caroline—hadn’t even spoken her name in years. “She had a riding accident. There was nothing she loved better than her horses, and she was the most accomplished equestrienne I have ever seen. But even the most skilled rider can have an accident. She was thrown and struck her head on a stone. When we found her, she was unconscious. And when we brought her home, she lingered in that state for several days, before ultimately passing away.”
“I do not think it was an accident. I think she was murdered... and her spirit is lingering here at Rosehaven.”
Chapter Nine
Louisa watched himreact to her statement. Denial, disbelief, anger. She saw all of those things flash by. That they knew one another so little and still she could read him so clearly was both strange and comforting.
At last, he demanded of her, “Why would you say such a thing?”
Louisa took a deep breath and prepared to tell him the strange truth. “All of my life, I’ve had a certain instinctive understanding of when I am in danger... and of who is dangerous. I’ve trusted those instincts, and that have never steered me wrong. The first day that I was here, when you left me in the library, I felt this strange chill. The air wasn’t just cold, but it moved and undulated. Surrounding me. And while I was startled, I didn’t feel threatened.”
“That is hardly proof,” he said skeptically.
“It happened again that night in my room, when I saw the figure in white.”
“Then what you saw could not have been Caroline—”
“No,” she concurred. “It was not. What I saw was a living, breathing person with actual form. Of that, I am entirely certain. And I have a suspicion of who that person was. But first, I need to tell you about my encounter with Caroline today.”
That was greeted with stony silence. Then after a moment, a curt nod. It was clear that he was far from convinced. Still,Louisa continued. “I did have a bit of a nap this morning. When I awakened, it was to that same strange cold sensation. The window was open, but it’s terribly hot outside. There is not even a hint of a breeze. And yet that cold air was whirling about me. And I decided that there must be a reason for it. So I told this spirit to lead me to what it wanted. And it did.”
“How?”
“First was a thump on the wall beside the door. Then the curtains stirred at the end of the hall. I took that turn. Then outside what I assume had been Caroline’s room, a puff of dust came from beneath the door… perfectly silhouetted against the light so that I might see it.”
“Again, that is not proof.”
“No. But of all the rooms in this house for me to wander into, isn’t it strange that the one I discovered was hers? And that while I was in that room, the secret drawer beneath the writing table simply sprang open and revealed all that you see here... her journal, the letters that the two of you exchanged.”
“So you think Caroline’s ghost has contacted you because she’s jealous?”
Louisa shook her head. “Not at all. I think she’s reaching out because she thinks I am in danger... the same sort of danger she was in, because Terrence was the one who killed her.”
Silence filled the small room. He didn’t say a word. Louisa kept waiting for him to have some explosion of temper, or worse, to simply laugh in her face. But ultimately, she decided that his silence might be worse. “Say something, for heaven’s sake,” she admonished after it became intolerable.
“That is quite a leap. You spent a great deal of your formative years surrounded by those with criminal intent, and it has colored your perception of the world. What reason would Terrence have to kill Caroline?”
Louisa spread her hands. “To prevent you marrying her and having an heir. Had you married your uncle’s ward, there is little question that the outcome of your uncle’s will would not have changed, even if the contingencies within it did. The fortune would have been yours, and he would have nothing. And now, because we have married, he is at risk of losing everything once more. Do you think it a coincidence that he showed up here on the same day we married? That he stood there next to his fresh, well-rested horse and told us he’d ridden all the way from London just this morning? If I spent too much time around the criminally intended, Douglas, you have spent too little.”
*
He wanted todeny all of it. Not because it was unbelievable, but because it was entirely believable. Not wanting a thing to be true did not make it so. If he’d stayed there, married Caroline when they were younger and not left to join the army, would she have still been alive? Had Terrence really killed her? He wished that he could so easily deny the claim, but he had little doubt his cousin was capable of such a thing. The question was whether or not there had been opportunity.
“What have you gleaned from reading her letters and journals?” There was a bite to his tone, one that he could not help. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but then, they were now married and privacy was very much a thing of the past. How could he resent it if what she said was true? He’d never encountered a ghost or apparition. At least, he hadn’t to his knowledge, but he couldn’t outright deny that such things existed when his uncle had been such a firm believer. Indeed, the entirety of Pluckley believed it. And if ever there was a rational source for such accounts, surely it would be Louisa Blackwell nee Jones.
“I haven’t read them. I did read the half-finished letter that she’d been in the middle of writing to you. When I realized who the letters were intended for and who they had likely come from, I felt it wasn’t my place to read them. I have looked at her journal a bit, but only to flip through it until I could find the last entries... the events leading up to her death.”
“They were fairly innocent,” he admitted. Then wryly added, “But not entirely.”
