'Perhaps the Blood Rock wizards and witches unleashed all their powers.'
'Unleashed their powers on what? The fortress? The mountain itself? On each other?'
'I don't know.'
'I wonder if Sarimund 'ever found out what happened. Perhaps there is a third thin volume somewhere. Oh, dear, do you think his son survived? Epona's son? Was he even born yet? This is very frustrating, Nicholas.'
'Read the final pages, Rosalind.'
She tried to turn the page, but it was stuck. It wouldn't part. She looked at her husband, saw he was frowning at that page. 'Drat, Nicholas, I cannot turn the page. It seems stuck together with the last page. Remember with the other Rules of the Pale, I simply couldn't read the code on the final pages. With this little one, the bloody pages refuse to come free. I really would like to hurl this across the library.'
Was that a rustling sound she suddenly heard?
There was a knock on the library door.
Nicholas looked ready to curse. Rosalind quickly got to her feet. 'Let's see what's happening now.'
It was Peter Pritchard, his young face haggard, his pale eyes ringed with shadows, his dark hair standing on end. His clothes, however, looked freshly pressed and his boots were polished. Behind him stood six women and four men in the vast entrance hall, all waiting, Peter told them, to be convinced by Nicholas to come to work at Wyverly, which was surely an opportunity only a dolt would deny-just imagine, a lifetime of tales to whisper about in front of winter fires.
'Give us a moment, Peter,' Nicholas told him and shut the library door in his face. He'd forgotten. He didn't want to deal with convincing a bunch of villagers to work at Wyverly, and Rosalind saw it. She also saw his mouth, ah, his mouth, when he'd kissed her, when he'd caressed her with his mouth. She shivered, remembering how when she'd awakened, he was gone, and she wanted to howl. As she stretched sore muscles she hadn't been aware of even having, she thought about burrowing against him in her sleep, and waking to kiss him, letting him-well, she'd kissed him at the breakfast table, in a small, really quite lovely room with huge windows that gave onto the front drive, kissed him until Marigold had staggered into the room balancing heavy silver-domed trays on her arms. She'd stopped in her tracks and stared and stared, then grinned from ear to ear.
And after breakfast, when Rosalind had thought perhaps Nicholas would carry her up to his boyhood bedchamber, he hadn't. He'd brought her to the library and handed her the thin leather book. She knew this was vital, she knew it, but still-
She smiled at him now, tossed him the thin volume. 'Why don't you slip out into the gardens, Nicholas, and think about this. See if you can free those final pages. Did you notice there are no more rules? Yes, you go to the gardens. Since I am the Wyverly mistress, it is only right that I deal with hiring our staff.' She patted his arm. 'I am very good at convincing people to do what I want.'
He looked down at the book, opened his mouth, but she lightly placed her fingertips against his lips.
'The book has been hare for a very long time. It isn't going to fly out the window. Try to get the last page unstuck, though I don't hold much hope. Now, let me see what I can do. We need to get Wyverly back to its former glory. Ah, there was former glory, wasn't there?'
'There was until my father became ill, actually faced his own mortality and realized the house and lands would come to me. He moved his family to London and left everything here to rot. Not all that long ago, thank God. I was very lucky Peter Pritchard was available.'
'I'm sorry, Nicholas. What a wretched old wart your father was. I wish he were here so I could punch him in the nose.'
He laughed, bent down and gave her a hard, violent kiss, and took himself out of the glass doors into a small overgrown garden. He heard animals scurrying about in the underbrush. He called out over his shoulder, 'We need gardeners.'
She opened the library door and ushered Peter in. 'Peter,' she said, turning to face him, 'I think I should like to speak to all of them at once. I trust you have ensured that none are ripe to steal the silver?'
'The old earl told my father, who told me, that Nicholas once stole three silver spoons forged during the time of Queen Bess so he could sell them in Grantham and buy himself a pony. The old earl, my father told me, thought it was very well done of him. The pony was treated like a prince here at Wyverly Chase. Indeed, he still resides in the stables, content to be brushed and fed carrots.' Peter paused, slapped himself, and said, 'I'm sorry but that has nothing to do with the matter at hand. As best I can ascertain, we have no thieves in this bunch.'
'All right, Peter, bring in our people.'
'They're not ours yet, my lady, and I doubt-'
She merely shook her head at him. When they were all lined up in front of her, many looking frankly alarmed to be in the old earl's library, the rumored seat of all ghostly occurrences, several of the men trying to sneer away their fear, Rosalind smiled at each of them in turn, and said, 'I am Lady Mountjoy. My husband and I are newly arrived at Wyverly Chase.' She leaned closer. 'Let me tell you all truthfully-I played chess with the old earl's ghost last evening, and do you know what? I beat him every time. He grumbled and threw several chess pieces across the library, but all in all, he took it well.'
There were several gasps, a couple of indrawn male breaths.
'The old earl is in transit, I suppose you could say. He is neither here nor there, but currently more here than there, if you know what I mean. He is not dangerous, not at all alarming, indeed, I find that he is a good listener and I enjoy singing duets with him.
'Do any of you sing?'
34
Dead silence. An older woman's hand slowly crept up. 'I do, my lady. The vicar told me I have the sweetest voice in his whole flock.'
'Then doubtless you will have to carry the duet with the old earl, as his voice isn't all that true. Do you think you would enjoy that, Mrs.-'
'Mrs. McGiver, my lady. Mr. Pritchard spoke to me about the housekeeper position.'
'The old earl knows some clever songs, Mrs. McGiver.'
' 'E's not the old earl, 'e's a ghost,' one of the men said, 'a bloody ghost wot doesn't belong aboveground! Singing duets, it isn't right. All this talk about playing chess with a ghost-there's evil and bad business, that's what everyone says. No good will come to anyone who stays 'ere.'
Rosalind nodded at the older gentleman with a rooster tail of white hair. 'I understand your concerns, Mr.-'
'Macklin, my lady, Horace Macklin. I was the 'ead gardener 'ere before the old earl came back to 'aunt.'
'The gardens are in dire need of your help, Mr. Macklin. Now, listen to me. I have discussed this with the old earl and he assures me he is not evil, he is, indeed, of a happy frame of mind. The reason he is happy is that he is very glad his grandson is here and wed.
'He told me about many of you, how kind you were, how pleasant and witty, how very good you all were. He also said he hoped you would come back and scrub things up so Wyverly Chase can be brought back to its former glory.'
Still uncertain looks, at least two appalled faces.
Rosalind leaned a bit closer to the group and lowered her voice. 'I can tell you this: He will add interest to your lives, he will make you smile after you become used to hearing his booming voice. When he breaks into song, I daresay you will soon find yourselves singing along with him. Who among you can be so timid, so fearful, as to turn down this very rare opportunity? Isn't this an adventure, something to tell your grandchildren? Your friends? I daresay they will all be hanging off your words, buying you glasses of ale to hear you talk.'
Ah, most of the faces weren't quite so stony now.
She continued, 'All great houses have their ghosts. Without ghosts, great houses simply don't come up to the mark. Now, the old earl's ghost isn't ancient and thus he hasn't yet decided whether or not he wishes to settle here. As I said, he is still afloat, but eager to greet all of you. Will he remain? I don't know. We will see.'
She stepped back and let them huddle. Voices were muted but they were talking, and that was good. Eyes
