Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls) (12 page)

“Would you care for solid blue today?” Emma asked from a distance. “You always look lovely in this dress.”

Blue, the color of Devlin’s eyes. She nodded and walked in the direction of the armoire that she had explored the previous evening while unpacking her belongings. It was a fine piece of furniture, if the carved etchings along the surface were any indication. Her clothes must appear poor, indeed, against such a backdrop. Though she hadn’t much idea of the current fashions, she had no illusions about her wardrobe. The brothers were generous but frugal, as they ought to be.

As she descended the stairs with a firm grip on the balustrade a few minutes later, a melancholy tune drifted from the east parlor, and Grace paused to listen. The notes struck a chord within her breast, for it was a tune she knew well. It had been years since she’d laid her fingers on an instrument, but she recalled the joy of playing beside her mother. Perhaps she had a tune or two committed to memory and could play during her stay.

After a few more bars, she continued on her way. Devlin was waiting for her. The moment she entered the dining room, the rich aromas of coffee and black pudding wafted over her, and the harsh scrape of wooden legs greeted her.

“Good morning, Miss Grace.”

Devlin’s tone was formal, his address distant. Had she done something to displease him? This was not the greeting of a secret lover who had stolen into her room and bathed her in the wonders of his lovemaking. Heat burned in her cheeks. Such fanciful musings she had allowed herself to chase this morning. It had all been naught but dreams conjured by a lonely soul.

“Good morning, Captain,” she said, straightening her shoulders.

“Shall I fix you a plate?” he asked.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll tend to it myself.”

She ambled in the direction of the sideboard, feeling the weight of his stare. An unbidden impression of her lover’s body pressing her into the soft moss flashed in her memory. With her mind so occupied, she stumbled when the toe of her shoe hit the edge of the area rug. She paused and glowered at the floor before reaching for a plate and selecting black pudding, beans, and a poached egg.

“Allow me,” Devlin said, taking the plate from her hand and leading her to the table. Her fingertips rested on his linen shirt, and the heat of his body permeated the thin material, playing havoc on her strung nerves.

Despite her claims to the contrary, his quiet insistence on attending to her moved her more than she cared to admit. She sat, and within seconds, the rich aroma of coffee greeted her. While she waited in awkward silence for Devlin to return to his seat, she asked, “Who plays the piano?”

“No one to my knowledge,” he replied with the soft clank of his utensils ringing in the background. “It must make a frightening racket at the moment, as I’m certain it hasn’t been attended in years. But you’re welcome to play. Shall I arrange for the instrument to be tuned?”

“Someone was playing beautifully on my way down the stairs,” Grace assured him.

He snorted. “Must’ve been a ghost.”

She shook her head and smiled. “You’re jesting, but after yesterday afternoon I would’ve thought you a believer.”

“I’m quite serious,” he said.

With her fork still halfway to her mouth, she paused. It wasn’t out of the question. But why that song? All of the moisture dried up in her mouth. Her mother had not passed in the mansion, God rest her soul. She couldn’t reside here. Nothing tied her to this place. Except for Lord Deveraux. Had her mother reunited with her lover in the afterlife?

A prickling sensation stole up her back. “Might I ask for a glass of water?”

“To your left at the head of your plate,” Devlin said. “Are you all right? You’ve grown quite pale. Not afraid of a friendly ghost, are you? Lord Deveraux was quite another matter. I hope you consulted your next steps with Brother Anselm yesterday.”

Cool water sluiced down her throat, bringing her some measure of relief. She wasn’t prepared to discuss her suspicions about her mother with Devlin, nor would she divulge what she’d learned from Brother Anselm about her biological father. She needed time to process what it meant. Could she banish him from the mansion without first attempting some form of communication? A conversation was ill-advised, to be sure. But a part of her longed to know him, even if only in the afterlife where he remained suspended between Earth and Heaven. Or Hell.

Though her father’s spirit was strong within the confines of the attic and had ripped through her like a gale, Grace felt certain the epicenter of evil resided elsewhere in the mansion. True evil knocked the very breath out of her, often bringing her to her knees, or worse.

So until she could mull it over, she ignored Devlin’s reference to her father and tossed him a saucy smile. “I’ll invite our guest to play a duet. Would you enjoy that?”

He chuckled. “Maribeth would, no doubt, watch in rapt fascination. Heaven help me, the little ragamuffin might even force me to teach her to dance.”

The mock horror in his tone was meant to elicit a grin, yet his words churned up a memory. Excitement tingled in her belly. “That’s it. We must visit the ballroom after we break our fast. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier.”

“Think of what?” Devlin asked.

“Where we’ll find the source of evil in the mansion,” Grace said. “Lost souls, particularly those wrenched violently from their bodies, often latch on to the place of their death. We must visit the ballroom.”

More than fifteen years had passed since the massacre, and the rumors and speculation surrounding that disastrous evening had died down. Still, it was common knowledge that the bloodbath occurred in the ballroom, where an entire entourage of guests had been gathered. That’s where Grace would find the greatest surge of paranormal activity. She was sure of it.

The door to the dining room creaked open, startling her so thoroughly that she gasped.

“Pardon me,” Abigail said, bustling into the room. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, Grace, but I thought you might enjoy a bit of bread-and-butter pudding. Fresh out of the oven, with raisins and cinnamon.”

Grace laughed and patted her hand against her chest as she recovered from the shock. She didn’t usually scare quite so easily. “Goodness. What a ninny you must think I am, but all this talk of lost souls has me on edge.”

“Lost souls?” Abigail asked, her voice bewildered.

“Grace was saying that the massacre is reputed to have occurred during a ball,” Devlin said, addressing the cook.

Grace wiped a napkin across her lips. “So, you see, it’s quite simple. We must visit the ballroom.”

“Those are naught but fairy tales, Grace.” Devlin laid his hand over hers. “There is no ballroom in the mansion. Believe me, for I have searched all thirty rooms myself.”

A dish clattered on the sideboard, and Abigail cursed under her breath. “Forgive me, but the rumors are true. My brother was the cook, you know. Crispin was in a fair state of panic while preparing for the ball. It was to be a great affair; the unveiling of the ballroom—one so beautiful and unique it was shrouded in secrecy. But, I assure you, it exists.”

“You’re certain?” The incredulity in Devlin’s tone made it clear he struggled to believe a single word. “Did he tell you where it is?”

“The location was held in the strictest confidence, and Lord Deveraux threatened ruin on anyone who divulged the secret.”

“Well, I’ve searched the whole bloody mansion. Perhaps it was in a separate building that burned down? Or it’s somewhere in the surrounding forest? I can well imagine that; the grounds are massive.”

Grace stood abruptly, undoubtedly drawing their attention. “There’s one way to find out. I must ask Crispin to guide us there.”

A muffled cry escaped Abigail, and Grace imagined the woman falling in a dead faint. But there was no resounding thud, so perhaps she had resorted to fanning herself.

“You can do that?” the cook asked.

“Yes,” Grace said with a tender smile as she walked toward Abigail. “If you like, I can also pass a message to him from you. Is there anything you wish to say to your brother?”

The woman sniffled. “That I love him and miss him dearly, and I pray he will rest in Heaven soon.”

Grace squeezed Abigail’s arm. “It shall be done. Come now, he awaits us in the kitchen.”

Upon entering the kitchen, the activity came to a sudden halt, and Grace turned to Devlin to whisper, “The fewer people who bear witness, the better. We must be surrounded by positive energy. I’ll need at least thirty minutes, and I can’t do this alone.”

“Certainly,” he said, and then addressed the room at large. “I would ask that everyone, except Abigail, leave us and not return until you’ve been summoned. Emma, go to Brother Anselm, quickly, and bid him to come immediately.”

A flurry of murmurs and shuffling feet greeted Grace, but she held herself still as the servants flooded by her. She could feel their curious stares as she worked to keep her breathing calm and even in preparation of what was to come. One should not dare to communicate with spirits unless they come free of stress and fear.

A tiny hand wrapped around Grace’s, and she smiled, knowing full well who stood quietly at her side.

“Maribeth,” Devlin said, a warning clear in his tone. “My request extends to you as well, I’m afraid.”

Grace squeezed the girl’s hand. “She can stay, Devlin. That is”—her lips twitched—“if you believe it will not frighten her. We cannot hope to call Crispin to us with fear in our hearts.”

“I’m not afraid,” Maribeth declared with more conviction than Grace had heard in many adults during her lifetime. “Please, Devlin. I beg you.”

He sighed, the heavy exhalation the sign of a resigned man. “Very well.”

Maribeth squealed in delight, and an ache pierced Grace’s soul. She hadn’t lamented the loss of her sight much in recent years, but in that moment she would’ve loved to bear witness to the grin surely spreading across Maribeth’s lips. As if reading her mind, the child lifted Grace’s hands and cradled them to her face, guiding Grace’s thumbs to the edges of her smile.

“Do you see how happy you’ve made me?” Maribeth asked.

A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek, and she was filled with joyous warmth. “Yes, yes, I do.” The grin between her thumbs widened, and Grace pulled the girl into an embrace. “Thank you for showing me.”

Devlin snorted, but Grace could hear the approval in it.

A rush of air entered the kitchen as Brother Anselm’s heavy breathing announced his arrival. “I came as quickly as I could, Grace. How may I assist?”

Grace informed him of their plan and requested that he lead them in prayer.

“Is everyone ready?” she asked. “No fear, and complete and utter silence while we pray. That’s what we need. If you cannot manage it, now is the time to leave.”

With a deep breath, Grace set Maribeth aside and then exhaled, forcing every last speck of air from her diaphragm while Brother Anselm prayed that the Lord and his heavenly angels would guide them and protect them with their holy light. Grace took a cleansing breath and imagined the room filling with that divine light, seeping into every corner and crevice until it filled her very soul and poured out of her. She offered mental thanks and gratitude to her Creator for the opportunity to speak to the friendly spirits congregating around them, and then she raised her hands high, spread them wide and accepted His grace and love. A bright light filled her mind’s eye, blinding in its purity, and she opened herself to it.

“Crispin,” she said, tentatively. “Are you there? Abigail has come to greet you with tidings of love.”

Ah, child. Come back for more of my raspberry scones, have you?

The cook’s familiar voice boomed in Grace’s mind, and she grinned, trying to suppress the laughter rumbling in her chest as his familiar face came into focus.

“I daresay Abigail has stolen your famous recipe and replicated it, because I find myself licking the buttery goodness from my fingers, just as I did when I was a little girl.”

Hmph … You say she loves me. And I her. Tell her it is so.

“I’ll relay the message. She wishes for you to seek the holy light and find your place in Heaven with our Maker, to finally be at peace.”

She’s a good woman but still bossy to her core.

His chuckle resonated in Grace, and she shared in his laughter.

I know why you’ve come, child, and I will show you what you seek. ’Tis been my burden to carry all these years. I knew you would come. So much like your mother, you are. And your father.

“Thank you.” She couldn’t manage more than the simple response. “Lead, and I shall follow.”

The journey took them through the hallway and out the front entrance. Grace walked with sure footing behind the portly man as they traversed the path along the edge of the lake. Crispin paused before Neptune’s shining form. The scene played out in her mind with such clarity, it was breathtaking. The sun’s brilliant rays kissed her face and warmed her within.

It is there, Grace. Do you see the way the sun reflects off the water? ’Tis the glass dome of the ballroom beneath the surface, guarded by Neptune.

“It cannot be!” she exclaimed, staring in awe at the twinkling rays reflecting off the surface of the lake.

An underwater ballroom. The idea was both thrilling and magnificent. How had her father kept such a wondrous endeavor a surprise? It must’ve taken years to excavate the land, build the ballroom, and then fill the lake. Oh, it must be divine to stand in the center of the ballroom and peer up at the sunshine penetrating the surface of the water, setting it aglow. That was a sight she longed to see. A crushing sadness filled her with the knowledge that it may never be so.

“But how do we enter, Crispin?”

Through a secret passage in the conservatory. You’ll find a doorway built into the inner wall, behind the large palm tree.

Grace swallowed and nodded. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Is there anything else you wish me to relay?”

Our mother’s recipe book lies beneath the floorboards of the kitchen pantry. It belongs to Abigail now. Tell her to take care of it and pass it down to my niece with love. As for you, my lady, I beg you to leave this place at once. Josephine is a foul and merciless creature.