The Secret of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 4) (21 page)

 
Forty-Eight

     
T
albot paced the hall long after the family had retired and then went downstairs. He felt restless and confined in the house.

      “Hello,” Birget said and Talbot looked up to see her standing in her robe as she filled a teapot at the kitchen sink.

      “Good evening,” he said. “Up late for a spot of tea?”

      Birget looked into his blue eyes. “When you get as old as I am it’s not unusual for aches and pains to keep you from sleeping.” She smiled.

      “You know,” he said, looking at the old woman curiously. “I might very much enjoy a nice cup of tea myself.”

      Birget allowed him to pour as she sat at the table grinning. He was handsome and well-mannered and it had been far too many years since an attractive young fellow had waited on her. He was in his shirtsleeves and without his jacket he looked casual and pleasant.

      “Thank you,” she said sweetly. “Young Loo is a lucky girl to have found a man willing to pour a good cup of tea, and one so handsome as well.”

      Talbot chuckled and winked at her affectionately. “You make sure you tell her that when she returns. Perhaps an opinion like yours on my side will help me win her heart.”

      Birget laughed. “She’s a slippery one, eh? Ah, Loo, she always went her own way. A strong willed child she was as well. You stick to it, Talbot, she’ll come around if your heart is strong.”

      Talbot nodded his head thoughtfully.

      “Are you helping her with her book then?” Birget asked as she sipped her tea.

      “I’m trying my best, but as you say, sometimes it’s not so easy.”

      “She was asking me about it.” Birget looked up at Talbot. “Asking about that man that came around making trouble when she was just a babe. He ought to be forgotten, I say.”

      “Jude Thomas,” Talbot said.

      “Ah, then she’s told you about him. Worst kind of man he was. I swear I still see his ghost around the place. He haunts the family to this day.”

      “His ghost?”

      “Yes. I’ve seen it, I have. Out there in the meadow.”

      “Tell me about it,” Talbot said. It was clear to him the old woman was frightened.

      “In life I know he was in here, right here in this house. I knew it for years, and now he’s out there waiting for her in the darkness. They may have hung him years ago but his ghost is still out there. Out there waiting.”

      “Out where? Here, at Stavewood?”

      “Yes,” Birget said. “I’ll show you if you don’t believe me.”

      Talbot chuckled. “Alright. I’d love to see it.”

      Birget scowled. “You laugh now, but you’ll see.”

      She stood up from the table, took a lantern from the counter and handed it to him. They climbed up the first staircase and then the second unhurriedly, Talbot patiently allowing her to take the steps slowly as she lumbered up on her tired legs.

      He helped her gently along the hall and pulled open the turret doors with a strong tug. The air rushed in with a soft cry. Birget looked up at him.

      “The house whispers to me sometimes, sad like that.”

      “I heard it,” he said.

      Birget walked over to the edge of the turret and put her hands on the railing. “Let me have the lantern,” she said. “The moon is full. Good for seeing ghosts.”

      Talbot handed it to her, watching her curiously.

      Birget lit the wick and held it high for a moment, then turned it down quickly. The flame went out and she set it on the floor beside her. Then she leaned over the railing, looking out into the yard.

      Talbot stood silently, watching her peer into the darkness.

      “Oh, my Lord. There!” she exclaimed as she pointed. “Jude’s ghost! He’s there in the field. Do you see him?”

      Talbot looked out into the night and waited as his eyes adjusted. A man in a black poncho with a broad, black hat upon his head was riding a black horse across the field towards the house. “That’s the ghost?” he asked quietly.

       “As I live and breathe.” The specter drew closer and, as he entered the yard he removed his hat. “Heavens!” she gasped.

      “What is it?” Talbot looked down into the yard.

      “That’s no ghost! That’s Victor Leach! I’d know him anywhere. What’s he doing here at Stavewood?”

      “Victor Leach, you say?” He looked at her with concern. “Are you sure? You know him?”

      Birget leaned over the railing and looked down at the man in the yard, just as he looked up at her. “Plainly,” she said.

      Talbot Sunderland put his hands firmly on the small of Birget’s back and shoved as hard as he could. She toppled over the railing and hit the hard packed dirt in the yard far below with a sickening thud.

      The rider dismounted, walked over to her lifeless body and squatted beside her.

     “Damn you, Victor,” Talbot said under his breath. He quietly hurried down the stairs.

      “Well, Victor? Is she dead?” he asked.

      “Dead as a doornail. I’d say she broke her neck in the fall.”

      Talbot turned Birget’s face into the light, her lifeless eyes staring up at him. Her expression was one of pure terror.

      “Why’d you do it, Clayton?” Victor asked.

      “This is your fault, old man.” Talbot’s face was red with anger but he kept his voice hushed. “She not only saw you, she recognized you! Why did you ride up to the house?”

      “You gave me the signal. So, do you have the diamonds?”

      “You old fool.” Talbot looked up at Victor standing over him. “I didn’t signal you. That was her with the lantern.”

      “Who is she anyway?”

      “Nobody, just the cook. Let’s get out of here.” Talbot stood and turned to leave.

      “Are we just gonna leave her here? Don’t you think we oughta hide the body?”

      “It’s not a problem. They’ll all think it was an accident. Let’s go before anyone hears us. I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

      Victor Leach mounted his horse and rode off across the field. Talbot headed up to the mills to his roadster.

      In the yard of the beautiful Victorian estate, Birget, the longtime cook of the Elgerson family had taken her last breath. Her breathing had stopped the moment she hit the ground. The light went out of her eyes and was replaced with the shadow of death.

Forty-Nine

     
T
imothy Elgerson set his empty mug onto the long counter in the kitchen, put his big hat upon his head and stepped out the door into the early light. The morning was clean and crisp and he took a deep breath, pulling the fresh air into his lungs. He surveyed the yard, as he did every day. Behind the hedge along the back of the house he spotted some clothing, possibly something that had blown off the clothesline. He walked over casually and then froze. His heart nearly stopped in his chest.

      He fell to one knee, took off his hat and set it down beside him.

      “Birget,” he said reverently. A deep sob racked his chest and he looked up to the turret. He had told her a hundred times. He put his hands up to his face and pushed away a tear. “Birget.”

      He knelt there for several, long minutes alone in the yard. The life of the one person he had known the longest was now done. He pulled off his jacket and laid it gently over her. He did not move or leave her side. Soon enough the family would rise. His dear wife, his sons, his household, and Mark, who would be hit the hardest of them all, would all be there. Soon enough they would know of this terrible accident and the business of death would take over all of Stavewood. Timothy Elgerson knelt there beside her and whispered his goodbye, alone in the yard as the sun rose over the pines.

      “You rest easy, old gal. You held my children and welcomed my Rebecca into my home. You were always there, my old friend. Thank you, Birget. I will miss you. Oh, how I will miss you.”

      He got to his feet as he heard the sounds of the household awakening and beginning their day. He set his hat back onto his head and walked wearily to the back door and stepped inside.

      Rebecca Elgerson looked up at him and stood perfectly still. “Timothy?” she whispered softly.

      “It’s Birget. She fell from the turret,” he said, his voice low in the big room.

      “Oh, Tim,” she gasped. “Oh, no.”

      Timothy broke the news to the family as gently as he could and gave everyone a moment for quiet reflection. Then he sent Phillip to the telegraph office to wire Birget’s family saying that they would be bringing her home to be laid to rest. Birget’s body was wrapped and prepared for the trip.  The family quickly packed.

      Mark stood in the parlor, his arm around Colleen’s shoulders. He spoke in low tones to her as Timothy passed the doorway. All of Stavewood was quiet with grief. Timothy stepped into his study and closed the door behind him. On a small sheet of paper he wrote his note:

Dear Loo,

     
Birget has met with an accident. We are taking her remains to her brother’s home and the services will be held there. We do not expect to return until later in the week. I do not know what your plans are at this point. Catch up with us when you can or we will see you when we return.

       With love,

Dad

      He folded the note neatly and set it on the kitchen table.

      “We can’t leave without Louisa,” Rebecca insisted. “When she comes home then we will go.”

      “We can’t be sure when that will be, Rebecca. I have no idea where Talbot is either. I don’t even know if they are together. Birget belongs with her family now. We can do that for her. Louisa is a grown woman and she makes her own choices.”

      Rebecca sighed. “I know, but when she came home with that nice gentleman I hoped she might stay.”

      Timothy took a deep breath. “Talbot has proposed to her and I don’t think he wants to stay here. He’ll want to go back to the city. Think about it, Rebecca. He doesn’t belong at Stavewood and maybe Loo doesn’t any more either. Her career is there.”

      “He proposed? Why didn’t she tell me?”

      Timothy took her hands. “She has her own life, Rebecca. We have to let go. And right now we have to take care of Birget.”

      Rebecca agreed reluctantly and, more than once as they prepared for their journey, Timothy saw her looking out across the yard for their daughter. He understood. He missed her as well.

      They left Minnesota, a line of wagons pulling away from Stavewood, one bearing a black draped casket. Mark had insisted on driving the wagon with Birget’s body and Colleen sat beside him, her soft curls reflecting the sunlight. As they pulled away a gentle breeze blew, ruffling the ribbon of the black bow that hung on the front door of Stavewood. Inside a single note lay upon the kitchen table.