Page 72 of Captivating the Countess
She simply did not have the creativity to interpret ghost behavior. Reluctantly, she knew she had one last resort. With distaste, she asked, “Lady Dalrymple, would you object if Drucilla sat with me? She was useful this afternoon in helping Her Grace to speak.”
“Her Grace?” Drucilla’s mother looked confused. Rightfully so, since there was no one living to claim that title.
Estelle didn’t wait for simple-minded Lady Dalrymple to work it out. She picked up the child and carried her to Bell. “You have been doing a fine job, Drucilla. You are a very brave girl. Lady C would like your assistance in speaking to the lady, if you don’t mind.” She sat the child on Bell’s lap.
“The lady is walking back and forth again,” Dru whispered.
“She wants to say something,” Bell whispered back. “Let’s see what happens if we hold hands and look at that pretty rock, all right?”
The child looked dubious but didn’t object.
The moment Bell held the child’s hands and focused on the crystal, she felt the terrifyingly oppressive atmosphere fall over her. She knew what the spirit wanted—access that Bell had always blocked unless comatose. But she didn’t dare fall unconscious while holding Dru. She’d always been terrified of harming a child if she dropped like a ninny. But Dru was her best focus for reaching the spirit.
Stomach clenching, head pounding, Bell tried to accept that the ghost was helpful, not dangerous. Beating back her fear, she opened her mind instead of blocking it, and let the spirit in.
Words that weren’t her own immediately spilled out.The witch did it. Don’t let her leave.
“The funny-looking gentleman is here,” Dru whispered in excitement.
A suit of armor at the exit rattled.
The gas lights died. A crash of metal followed, and a woman screamed.
Twenty-six
The blackness descendingover the enormous drawing room had all the occupants screaming and swearing.
Rain immediately kneeled beside Bell in her chair, placing his body between her and the child and whatever in hell was happening. Outlined only by the fire’s light, the pair seemed frozen in place. He knew he should be seeing to his family and guests, fighting his way to the door where a potential murderer might be escaping, but he couldn’t abandon a child or this courageous, insane female who risked her own sanity for him and everyone else.
“Light the sconces,” he shouted, since the crash of armor seemed to have led only to insensible shrieking. “Gerard, can you find your way to the door?”
Iona dropped down on the other side of the chair. “He’s heading that way now. Bell, Bell, are you there?”
Bell didn’t reply. Rain rubbed his hands up and down her arms—not easily because the child was clinging to her, weeping.
The voices of his brothers-in-law rose above the chaos, repeating his orders. Relieved to have their aid and that he needn’t leave Bell, Rain spoke with trained neutrality—hishealingvoice, he prayed. “Bell? Can you hear me?”
She shook her head, then shuddered a little. Rain continued running his hands up and down her arms, speaking soothingly, willing her to wake.
Finally, she drew a deep breath. “I’m... I’m all right, I think. I didn’t fall comatose. I just... I don’t know.” Sounding a little shocked, she glanced down at Dru. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”
“The ghost lady doesn’t like the pretty lady. And the funny gentleman is helping her.”
“That makes almost as much sense as anything else this evening.” In gratitude that neither of them had been rendered insensible, Rain kissed Bell’s cheek and stroked Dru’s little nose. Rage and terror still roared like a tiger trapped by his rib cage, but he wouldn’t frighten them by releasing it. “Will the two of you be all right here with Lady Iona? I think I need to stop the pretty lady.”
“You have no proof,” Bell warned. “I provednothing.”
“Except that Her Grace is excitable and has another ghost with her. That was a powerful gust.” As sconces were relighted, gradually illuminating the shadows, Rain stood, guarding Bell while surveying the chaos.
The shrieking actress lay beneath a hundred pounds of armor, pummeling the metal with her fists. The old iron suit had guarded the drawing room for decades, maybe even centuries. It didn’t look much worse for wear.
His steadfast butler still blocked the exit. Franklin appeared bemused and startled and held a hand to his impressive mutton chop. A tinge of red showed on his cheekbone where he’d apparently been slapped. Lady Pamela must have attempted to push past him in the darkness. The old man wouldn’t be of any use lifting the armor. Gerard was dismantling it, unable to pick up the bulky collection of metal in one piece by himself.
Lady Pamelawas the guilty party? Rain would beat a confession out of her if he must, but first, he had to be sure Teddy wasn’t involved as well.
Refusing to aid the irate thespian, he looked for his artist cousin, who stood stunned, staring at his sketchpad. “Teddy, your lady is having another fit. Perhaps you wish to help Gerard untangle her?”
Confession or not, Lady Pamela would be on the train in the morning. For now, he had to prevent mass hysterics.
