Gray Lady, page 3
A butler from the house emerged and paid the driver before I could open my bag.
“Madame Chalamet?” I nodded. “Please come in. We would have sent a carriage if we had known the hour of your arrival.”
“No bother. I was not sure when we would leave Alenbonné, and did not want to put you at any inconvenience.”
“Guests are never inconvenient,” the butler corrected me. “Is this your servant?”
“Yes.” I introduced Anne-Marie.
“My name is Mysir Bonetti. I shall show her to your rooms. Your luggage arrived yesterday.”
“Thank you.”
“Lady Montaine is in the parlor. Seeing your carriage’s arrival, she asked me to bring you to her. Or do you wish a moment to freshen up?”
I was as fresh as I would ever be, so declined the offer. After asking Anne-Marie to wait in the foyer, he took me down a cool dark hallway to where Lady Montaine awaited me.
After he had announced me, I entered a cozy room with high ceilings where exposed round wood beams crossed the room from end to end. Light streamed down from windows placed high in the walls, giving the burnished plaster a warm glow. The floor was terracotta tiles in an earthy red color. It was all very cozy and comforting, like a warm blanket.
Lady Madeleine Montaine waved me over to sit near her. My hostess did not seem put off at having a guest shoved upon her by the Duke de Archambeau. Instead, she welcomed me in a casual speech as if I had been a visitor she knew well.
“My legs, Madame Chalamet, I try to rest them as much as I can,” she said, explaining why she did not rise to greet me. I settled myself on the sofa adjacent to her. “I’m afraid you missed most of the party. My son, Corbin, took his fiancée for a walk along the bluffs. There’s an old lighthouse there that is quite picturesque. My husband, Eduard, is locked up with Tristan in his library, looking over some old maps. He’s always collecting them. Valentina is down in the town, perhaps you saw her? No? Well, she went to buy a new parasol, as the handle on hers broke. You must get a sunshade while you are here! The sun can be quite intense. Now, have you had lunch?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Would tea be fine with you? Or do you need something more? Don’t hesitate to say! I can’t stand young ladies who are too timid to say when they need food.”
“No, I’m truly fine.”
Lady Montaine was a redhead, but the color was starting to give way to white, so her hair had a speckled appearance, much like a hen with rusty feathers. A few freckles remained on her cheeks, but even there the color of her youth was fading, and her skin was very pale. She was wearing a loosely fitted dress in a style favored for meeting guests at home.
“So, you are here to see about our resident ghost? Tristan wrote to us that the thing would interest you.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Gray Ladies are somewhat rare, according to the records of ghostly activity the Morpheus Society has tracked.”
“Eduard found some journals and other family writings about it and put them in the sewing room for you to review tomorrow. Not a large room, but it’s quiet and private, with enough space to spread out and work while you are here.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you. I wonder, have you seen her?”
“Not me! Thank goodness!” she replied with a friendly smile.
“So she hasn’t appeared during your marriage, Lady Montaine?”
“No. But we are having plenty of guests down this week, so perhaps she will show her face, especially as you are here now? Though I will be just as happy if she stays away. She isn’t the omen you wish to appear at a party of friends.”
“I didn’t realize you were having so many visitors. I hope you aren’t inconvenienced by my arrival?”
“Not at all! It’s only Lady Tremblay and her husband, Gilbert. He hasn’t been the same since his accident, and I couldn’t say no when she begged to get away for a little sunshine. Then there’s Tristan and Valentina, who you already know, of course. Coralie is here already, and her mother will come down in a few days. Madame Floquet is overseeing some sort of renovation at her house. Drains, I think. Or was it installing new water closets? Oh, I don’t remember, but something with a lot of workmen that is causing a spot of bother.”
We chatted about gardening, something Lady Montaine was evidently passionate about, but she got tired easily, so after half an hour she suggested that I tour the house and gardens on my own. When I was ready to find my room, I had only to ask her butler for directions. Dinner was at eight, though sometimes mishaps in the kitchen delayed things, so it was best to listen for the gong that signaled the table would be seated in half an hour.
Dismissed, I left to do as my host suggested. Across the hall from the parlor was another room. Its doors were closed, and hearing masculine voices within, I guessed it to be the library. Continuing down the hall, I discovered another public area with two sofas and an assortment of chairs for conversation. It had a set of floor-to-ceiling glass doors that opened onto a veranda.
The beauty outside beckoned. Exiting, I found myself on a stone patio that ran the length of the back of the house. Huge plant pots spilled over with flowers in bright colors of red and orange. Down the hill, the lawn ended at a treeline, and further on the horizon was the blue of the bay seen through the trees. Off to the left was the very top of the old lighthouse, barely visible over the treetops.
There were several wicker chairs with cushions. I settled into one, letting the smell of pine trees and the chatter of birds soothe me. Watching puffy clouds slowly pass overhead, I drifted off to sleep.
I awoke slowly, aware that someone was with me. Tristan was sitting on a bench, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, while his contemplative gaze faced the bucolic view. While he was lost in thought, I contemplated his profile, trying to decide if I liked his nose or the arch of his eyebrows best. He was blessed with very long eyelashes that a woman would envy.
“Your thoughts?” he asked, breaking the stillness.
“It’s a beautiful view,” I replied.
He turned and gave a slight half-smile. “I meant about the household?”
“I haven’t met enough of them yet to form an opinion. At this stage, I’m gathering information only, not making judgments.”
He paused, his eyes considering me with an inscrutable stare before returning to the view. “Lady Josephine Baudelaire is in Pendel. She saw my sister in town yesterday and has already pressed for an invitation to Hightower House.”
I felt a sense of alarm at that, but suppressed it. I could handle her if need be. I asked, keeping my voice mild, “Will she be at dinner tonight?”
“Not tonight, but trust me, Josephine will be here soon. Somehow. She does not take no for an answer, as you have experience with.”
She was a force to be reckoned. I certainly had not wanted to do that Ghost Hunt at Hartwood House so long ago. “Have you talked with her yet about finding the gemstone from her necklace in a pile of stolen loot?”
“A delicate matter,” he replied. “Asking her directly means revealing I have the original, which would bring up questions about how I obtained it. Certain resources could become compromised if too much is revealed at this stage.”
I suggested, “I could ask her about the necklace. I’ve done it once before, and considering who my father was, it shouldn’t be surprising that I have an interest.”
“You will not see that necklace this trip, if ever. When I met her in Alenbonné at a dinner party, I asked about it and she said it was being cleaned and a clasp repaired.”
“Convenient.”
“Very.”
I mulled over what I knew about Lady Josephine. “She seems close to your family.”
“A superficial closeness. She is a country neighbor and of our class; it forces a connection. We grew up together as children. Whether we enjoyed the experience or not is another question.” When Tristan was irritated, his sentences sounded like a whip cracking.
“Your sister considers her a friend.”
“It is a connection I wish she would cut. However, whenever I bring up the subject, Val becomes mulish.”
“Perhaps she does not like being driven?” I suggested. “I assume Lady Josephine’s marriage was a recent one?”
“Yes. About two years old. How did you know?”
“Because she expected to marry you after your wife’s death. That doesn’t leave a lot of time between events.”
“It is not me she wants, but Chambaux. She covets my family estate.”
“Is it such a beautiful place?” I asked wistfully, knowing full well I would never see it.
“Beautiful and very wealthy,” he assured me. “The only thing to commend me to anyone, it seems.”
Perhaps it was tasteless to laugh, for he gave me an affronted look at my burst of gaiety. I reached over and patted his hand reassuringly. “I am sure there are women who pursue you for yourself, Tristan. You are far too modest.”
“Wealth and status seduce people, Elinor.”
“I admit that is not a problem I have experienced personally.” Thinking over the gems he had shown me and their connection to my father’s murder, I said, “Surely there is some connection, some trace of who our master criminal is from the person who held those gemstones?”
“The person involved was just holding them and knew nothing about their provenance.”
Annoyed, I shot back, “How can you be sure? Perhaps he was lying?”
“Considering how many items we found in his possession, I don’t think he knew half of what he had. The master criminal likes to use people as pawns, and puppets don’t know the plans of their string-puller.”
I made a move to rise from the chaise lounge, but Tristan reached out a hand to stop me. Despite my irritated feeling, his clasp around my waist sent a warm response all through me, and I found myself melting when I preferred to remain indignant. How irritating!
“When I learn something about your father, you will be the first to know. And I will learn something, for I shall break this ring,” he promised me.
Before I could respond, a couple hailed him by name as they walked up the steps from the end of the patio. One was Coralie Floquet and the other, from the arm around her waist, I took to be her fiancée, Corbin Montaine. Tristan’s arm slipped away as we stood up but his hand behind his back pressed mine reassuringly before letting go.
Once the couple reached us, Tristan formally introduced me.
“I’m so glad you made it here, Madame Chalamet. My mother’s been looking forward to your arrival. Ghost stories intrigue her so much,” said Sir Corbin Montaine.
I had not found that to be particularly true in my brief discussion with her; perhaps Sir Corbin was merely being polite. He reached out and gave my hand a brief shake.
At a guess from the stage of his mustache, I would put him at about five, no more than ten, years older than Coralie. His thick, sandy-red hair came back from his forehead in a widow’s peak, and his eyes were light hazel with a sprinkle of gold. While slightly shorter than the average male, he had a figure that leaned towards solid with broad shoulders and muscled legs. He looked well in his brown country tweeds, and anyone seeing him would think “Good country stock.”
He asked Tristan, “Did you enjoy my father’s latest map?”
“It has some interesting features,” replied Tristan in a neutral tone, which elicited a laugh from the younger man.
“Never say it with such a lack of feeling, Your Grace! Father is quite proud of his latest acquisition and expects everyone around him to enjoy them as well.” To me, Montaine explained, “My father collects old maps, Madame Chalamet, and invites like-minded connoisseurs to Hightower House to admire them. If they admire them a lot, he finds a way they can buy them.”
He gave me a knowing wink, and I found myself liking him, despite my skepticism about Coralie being the right age to marry.
Like many young people, Coralie did not like being left out of the conversation. “Some of them are so quaint, with their drawings of seals and sea monsters in the corners. ‘Here be dragons’,” she said, giving a slightly breathless giggle.
At my confused expression, Tristan informed me, “When there were unknown areas that hadn’t been explored yet, a cartographer might put those words on the map to warn others away from the area.”
“Oh.”
Of course, another dragon to vanquish. How apt.
Chapter Four
At dinner, I met Lady Odette and Lord Gilbert Tremblay. They were nothing like what I had expected. If I had envisioned Lady Odette to be a man-hungry, predatory woman, she was as unlike Lady Josephine Baudelaire as was chalk to cheese.
Instead, she was a pleasant woman with an ordinary face, in her mid-forties, who spent most of the dinner party trying to encourage her shy husband to shine at a social party he was ill-suited for. In one of the lulls in the table conversation she told us all in a loudly confiding voice, “Gilbert has perfected his strawberry!”
“What was that, dear?” inquired Lady Madeleine Montaine politely.
Lady Madeleine and her husband were naturally seated at opposite ends of the table. Along the long length were the guests arranged in pairs: Tristan with Coralie; Valentina beside Gilbert; and Odette with Corbin. I was simply matched with a woman labeled “nanny”, who seemed deaf in the ear located on my side. Coralie’s mother was to come later in the week, and someone had found Nanny so the table could be seated with even numbers.
“Strawberries, Lady Madeleine!” repeated Lady Odette. “Have you ever noticed that at the end of the season, they become so tasteless? The winter ones grown in the greenhouse never seem to compare to those in midsummer. But Gilbert has now bred the perfect red berry!”
“How impressive,” said Lady Madeleine, and Odette beamed.
Meanwhile, Gilbert, strawberry breeder extraordinaire, was nose-deep in his soup, ignoring his wife. He was a man with owlish eyes that made his round face even rounder. His receding hairline showed a silver line from an old scar, making a path from his right temple before becoming lost in his hairline. This must be from the accident Lady Montaine had referenced during our earlier conversation.
While our hostess and her guest discussed the intricacies of fruit hybridization, Tristan asked Corbin about his recent tour of a city in the country of Perino, which was well known for its reputation as an art-lover’s paradise.
“That’s where we met. When I was on holiday there with Mother,” said Coralie.
“In the Palazzo of Birds,” said Corbin.
“I sprained my ankle, and he helped me back to my hotel.”
“Luckily it only swelled a little.”
Wondering what Charlotte LaRue would have made of that sprained ankle, I hid my smirk behind my wine glass. Point scored for Coralie. Perhaps the girl had some cunning under that childish facade after all.
Lord Montaine, on my right, told me, “I’ve set aside all I could find in my family records for you, Madame Chalamet. There isn’t much, but I did locate some items that should help you in your Gray Lady research.”
“That was very kind of you, Lord Montaine.”
“I hope you aren’t going to destroy her. She’s part of the family,” he said in a jovial tone. He was a portly man with a dome-shaped head and a froth of white hair that made a feather-like cloud around his head. I supposed his son took after his mother.
“With haunts such as a Gray Lady, I doubt I could do so even if you wished for it. They present a special problem.”
“Why would a Gray Lady be harder than any other ghost?” asked Corbin with open curiosity.
Turning to him, I said, “Normally, ghosts are the essence of a person who has passed, but Gray Ladies are another type. These are spirits maintained because of an event or place, rather than by a personality. They walk on their own schedule, and the Society has had no luck in communicating with them.”
“Are you saying nothing can be done to get rid of it?” asked Coralie, her voice a fearful treble. “Mother won’t like that.”
Clients always had unreasonable demands, and I was used to dealing with their expectations. I said smoothly, “I think it’s premature to be discussing destroying her. We don’t know her history, why she has appeared, or what might happen if she is removed. One step at a time. Taking it slowly will prevent mistakes.”
From the other end of the table, Lady Montaine stopped discussing strawberries and joined our conversation. “If the Gray Lady appears, perhaps it is best we just heed her warning.”
“Mother!” exclaimed her son.
“I’m just saying that if forces beyond our understanding caution against this marriage, perhaps we should rethink it.”
As I wondered at Lady Montaine’s desire to delay or even prevent the marriage, Coralie’s bottom lip started to tremble, and her eyes filled. Her reaction reinforced the impression that she was a young girl.
Lord Montaine didn’t strike me as a sensitive fellow, but he broke protocol; instead of letting his wife tell the butler to begin the second course, he did. The room’s chatter switched to other topics.
The weeping woke me around four in the morning. At first I thought it was ghostly in nature, but no, this was human weeping. It was too real. I slid out of bed and slipped into my house robe. Opening the door to my room, I peeked out into the hallway but found it deathly quiet. Somehow, the noise was coming from inside my room.
Searching my quarters, I finally discovered that one of the windows was cracked open, probably to let in the mild summer breeze. Leaning out, I could better hear the heart-rending sobs from a room on my side of the house. Thinking over what I knew of the inhabitants of this wing, I surmised that either Odette Tremblay or Valentina Fontaine would have red eyes tomorrow.
I gently closed the window and let her have privacy. What would cause such heart-piercing grief?
