Page 21 of The Curse of Penryth Hall
Good God, why didn’t he believe me? I hadn’t even wanted to return to Lothlel Green in the first place—not truly. It was only my affection for dear old Mr. Owen that brought me here.
He blew out a breath, studying my face intently. Then his peculiar eyes widened for just an instant then shuttered again. The man was harder to read than my own penmanship.
“Hush,” he growled.
“I’m not speaking.”
“It’s truly not yours, is it?” He sounded vaguely disappointed at the acknowledgment.
“Truly. Now will you tell me what that thing is, and what it’s doing under my bed?”
He blew out a heavy breath and walked to the window, pulling the thick curtains back and gazing out onto the path into the orchard. “And you didn’t see anything last night. Nothing at all unusual?”
I shook my head, grateful he couldn’t read my thoughts. “No. Though I had a rather unsettling dream. I’m prone to them—bad dreams—but this one was strange, even for me.”
He made a low sound of annoyance in his throat. “What sort of dream?”
I’d never told many people about them. Only my mother knew, and Tamsyn of course. Yet something about this irritating stranger made me want to tell him about them. In detail. Lay bare everything I’d never understood. Had to be the gin, that was all. “It was strange.” My fingers rose to my throat, tracing over the spot where my skin still hurt. “I felt as if I were being strangled. Tamsyn was there, and a snake… so was Sir Edward. He was attacking me. And I was struggling with him. Then Fiachna had a fit—the cat, you see—” I left out the detail about the knife and gestured to the cat, who let out a timely wet feline snort.
“Your throat?” His variegated eyes remained fixed upon me.
I nodded, my fingers toying with the golden chain of my locket. He prowled closer, one hand shooting out, brushing my own hand away. His fingers rough and warm as he probed my skin.
I jerked away from his touch, stumbling slightly, causing me to whack the back of my thighs against the wooden dressing table. “Ow. What are you doing?”
“Turn around.”
I jutted out my jaw, swatting his hand away. “That’s enough of that. I don’t understand what you are doing, what you’re thinking storming in here with wild accusations. Putting your hands on my person and brandishing that… that…” I waved my hand airily at the jar he still held. “Whatever that is.”
“A fetal pig.”
I let out an involuntary shudder. “A fetal pig… lovely. Well, regardless. I do wish you would leave and take all that nonsense with you.”
“Nonsense, is it?” He took hold of my shoulders and turned me bodily around to face the mirror, looming behind me—a bleak and angry expression on what I’d once mistaken as a rather kind face.
His warm hands tugged down the flimsy, white-lace collar of my blouse, revealing faint bruises on my skin. Purplish-green streaks spread across the tawny flesh. They were faint, but there all the same.
I sucked in a breath, my own fingers tracing the marks in the reflection. I hadn’t been dreaming after all. And if that wasn’t a dream… then what else might have occurred last night?
Mr. Kivell slipped the bottle into his coat pocket and started back across the room. “There’s blood in your bed as well, Miss Vaughn. And if I don’t miss my guess, I’d say that Sir Edward wasn’t the only target last night. Someone here means you ill. Unless…” He trailed off, staring intently at me.
“Blood?” The color drained from my face, and I grew chilled. “Surely you don’t think I…” But I couldn’t finish the statement, as the farther he moved from me, the more the world began to shift beneath my feet. I sank back down onto the top of the dressing table, tilting my head toward his bulging pocket. “Is that what that is, then? An ill wish?” Tamsyn’s old cook had mentioned such things, but I’d never paid much attention then.
He gave me a halfhearted shrug and sniffed in response. “I’m not sure what it is, truth be told. It’s nothing I’ve ever seen before. It looks like black magic, but sometimes countercharms can be just as macabre to the untrained eye. I once saw a woman put nails into a bullock’s heart and shove it up a chimney to break a curse. I can’t be certain either way until I look a bit more closely.”
“I feel rather sorry for the bull.” I frowned. “How does one learn this sort of thing? I suppose they don’t teach it at Oxford, do they?”
He let out a slight sound of amusement. “I’d say whoever put the charm there was either better versed in the craft than I am or wants it to look that way.”
I wet my lips. “Which do you think it is, Mr. Kivell?” I sorely hoped his answer was the latter, but he turned on his heels and stalked out of the room, leaving me even more unsettled than before.
CHAPTERTWELVEAn Odious Visitor
“Icame as soon as I heard.” A cultured male voice came from the drawing room, bringing me to a dead halt where I stood. I hadn’t known we were expecting guests. Though news of Edward’s death must have traveled fast. It had been probably half an hour since Mr. Kivell left me in my bedchamber, as it had taken at least that long for me to regain both my wits and enough sobriety to make my way downstairs to speak with Tamsyn. I’d been in this house less than twenty-four hours and someone had not only murdered her ne’er-do-well husband but tried to kill me as well.
I paused outside the doorway for several seconds, my fingers toying with the golden chain of the locket at the base of my throat. My skin still burned from where Mr. Kivell had touched me moments before. Was it possible that Sir Edward had attacked me in my sleep? Could he have caused my bruises and I… My thumb ran over the back of the locket.No.No, it wasn’t possible. There had been a knife in my dream, and I certainly didn’t have one of those. Besides, how would I have gotten his body to the orchard if I’d somehow stabbed him?And wouldn’t there have been more blood than just the smattering on the sheets?
No. None of that made sense at all.
