Two hours later, when Greville and Rupert had enjoyed an herb-scented vapor-bath at the exclusive premises of Sheikh Deen Mahomed, shampooing surgeon to the Prince of Wales, and were strolling back for Mrs. Fosdyke's roast pork dinner, a second traveling carriage drew up outside Radcliffe House. Fosdyke was very startled indeed to admit Evangeline, followed by the gray-haired French maid, Annie, who immediately scuttled upstairs to prepare her mistress's apartment, which thankfully was kept aired at all times.
The butler did not observe Megan, who lingered nervously on the threshold, nor did he seem to see or hear Master Rollo Witherspoon, who marched boldly into the house as if he owned it. The sound of spectral footsteps rang out on the tiles as the ghost followed Evangeline to the fireplace; indeed he was apparently so close behind her that he trod on her train. She turned a little crossly. "Oh, do look where you're going, sirrah!" she complained.
Neither Fosdyke nor the footmen reacted in any way, yet they could not have failed to hear what she said; on top of which Rollo had passed within two feet of the butler! Megan was very aware of it all, however, as indeed she had been from that first moment in Wells. By now she knew that Evangeline was not mad at all, simply well and truly haunted; a fact with which her ladyship might be able to cope, but her new companion found rather difficult.
Having spent the entire distance from Somerset in the knowledge that a spirit was in the carriage as well, Megan was still a little uneasy about remaining in Lady Evangeline Radcliffe's employ. From the incident of the floating mistletoe at the lodging house, to Evangeline's asides to apparently thin air, and the mark of an invisible posterior on the carriage's velvet upholstery, Megan knew Rollo Witherspoon was there. Annie had not seemed to notice anything, and now that Fosdyke and the footmen likewise seemed not to notice anything, Megan was forced to conclude that they were probably ignorant of the ghost's actual existence, and were all making allowances for a mistress they thought to be a little eccentric.
This was the first time Megan herself had encountered anything supernatural, but in spite of her unease she was intensely curious. Who was Rollo Witherspoon? How old was he? What did he look like? Why was he haunting Evangeline? She longed to ask, but knew better than to broach such a delicate and potentially embarrassing matter. It remained to be seen whether or not the wraith realized that the new companion was aware of him, for as yet she had been very careful to show no sign.
Evangeline discarded her muff and held her hands out gladly to the fire as she glanced around the hall. "How very unseasonable we are, to be sure. Fosdyke, first thing in the morning I wish you to see that Christmas greenery is acquired. It must be lavish, because this holiday is going to be very special after all-at least, it is from New Year's Eve onward."
"My lady." What was going to be "very special" about it? the butler wondered. He did not know about Evangeline's personal plans, or indeed about the sale and subsequent demolition of the house.
Evangeline continued. "It goes without saying that the mistletoe by the summerhouse is not to be touched."
"Yes, my lady."
"I'm very proud of that mistletoe. I vow it must be the largest example in the realm."
"Undeniably, my lady."
Lady Evangeline eyed him again. "I trust that my rooms have been kept aired and warm since my departure?"
"Oh, yes, my lady."
She looked shrewdly at him. "What's afoot, sir? You have discomfort written all over you. Has something happened of which I should know?"
"Yes, my lady. My lord and Sir Greville arrived earlier this evening, and are at this moment at Mahomed's Baths."
Evangeline paused. "Well, that is an agreeable surprise, and hastens things along."
"My lady?"
"No matter. Have they indicated why they have chosen to grace Radcliffe House with their presence after all?"
"No, my lady, but the message they sent from London informed me that although my lord intends to stay on, Sir Greville will return to the capital again on New Year's Eve."
"To avoid Twelfth Night, no doubt," Evangeline observed caustically, recalling the shambles Greville had made of Bottom. "Is he accommodated in the blue chamber as usual?"
"Yes, my lady."
"Which presumably means it is nicely aired?"
"Oh, yes, my lady."
"Well, Sir Greville will have to relinquish it, I fear, for I wish Miss Mortimer to sleep there as it is next to my apartment."
"Miss Mortimer, my lady?" The butler was still unaware of Megan in the doorway behind him.
"My companion. Where is the girl?" Evangeline looked past him at Megan. "Ah, there you are! Come in, come in, don't fidget on the threshold."
Nonplussed, the butler turned as Megan stepped reluctantly into the hall. His critical glance took in the plain maroon hooded cloak she wore over her mustard woolen gown, and the modest black hat beneath her raised hood. He guessed her to be an impoverished gentlewoman, as indeed were most ladies' companions, but why on earth would Lady Evangeline suddenly employ such a person? And not only that, but give her the blue chamber as well? There was surely more to all this than met the eye…
Another footman had emerged from the kitchens in time to hear about Megan. He was in his mid-twenties, with sandy hair, small eyes, and full lips, and the withering look he gave her was also one of outrage that a companion should be shown such undue favor as to be accommodated in one of the grandest bedrooms. Megan was accustomed to resentment, for companions did not rate highly either above or below stairs, being neither one thing nor the other, but she was herself a little startled to be given a chamber that was clearly more suited to a guest.
Evangeline spied the footman. "Ah, Edward. Remove Sir Greville's things from the blue chamber without delay. The mauve room will do for him, for the color will no doubt suit his temper when he finds himself evicted from his usual cozy place."
Fosdyke nodded at Edward, who gave Megan another dark glance before he went swiftly up the staircase. Megan felt very awkward. "Oh, Lady Evangeline, I do not wish to be the cause of Sir Greville's eviction…" she began.
"Nonsense, chit. It will do him good. He and Rupert are most presumptuous, first declining my invitation, and then taking possession of my house behind my back. I intend to have stern words with them. No doubt Greville thinks to avoid my play this year, but his timely presence will enable rehearsals of Twelfth Night to get under way a little sooner than expected. That will teach him."
Megan fell silent. One thing was certain, Sir Greville would regard her as the presumptuous one, not himself. Edward and the butler clearly already did!
Suddenly Evangeline began to feel familiarly hot and uncomfortable, and she stepped hastily away from the fire. She longed to rush out on to the Steine for some cold air, but to her relief the disagreeable flush passed after a few moments, which was more than could be said for a few exceedingly disagreeable occasions during the journey from Wells. Recovering, she waved Megan toward the drawing room, which lay on the Steine side of the house. "Wait in there until your room is ready, Miss Mortimer. Fosdyke, see that a dish of tea is brought to my apartment tout de suite.'' With that she gathered her skirts and bustled toward the staircase.
"My lady." The butler bowed solemnly after his departing mistress, then took himself off to the kitchens.
Megan went into the gray-and-gold drawing room, where lighted candles in sconces illuminated exquisite furniture. Theatrical prints adorned walls hung with Chinese silk, and a portrait of the famous actress Mrs. Siddons as Cleopatra had pride of place on the chimney breast. A longcase clock ticked slowly in a silence that was broken only by Evangeline's voice in the distance, issuing instructions to Annie.
Megan flung back her hood and went to the deeply bowed window to hold the fringed velvet curtain aside. She saw the lights of the houses across the Steine, and at an upper window of the first one, a young woman looking back at her. Slender, with short blonde hair, she was dressed in a white evening gown with a blue sash, and the room behind her was lit by a dazzling chandelier. She seemed taken aback to see someone looking out of Radcliffe House, and stared so obviously that Megan hastily let the curtain fall into place again.
In the house opposite, Chloe Holcroft continued to gaze at Radcliffe House in astonishment. She had been at the window of the second-floor drawing room to watch Oliver March drive off after dining with her father and her, and she had been startled to see lights at Evangeline's house. Now she was even more startled to see a young woman she did not know.
She turned back into the room. "Papa, I believe one of Lady Evangeline's Christmas guests must have arrived after all."
"Mm?" Admiral Sir Jocelyn Holcroft didn't look up from the new newspaper, the Brighton Herald, which had only been in print for a month or so. He was still a handsome man, although his features were now marred by an eye patch over his left eye, and a livid white cutlass scar down his right check to the corner of his mouth, the result of an encounter with pirates in the Mediterranean. Once a distinguished uniformed figure commanding from the quarterdeck of one of the Royal Navy's finest first-raters, he was still impressive in the formal black velvet coat and white silk breeches of a civilian gentleman who had just had a guest to dinner.
Chloe gave him a cross look. "The French fleet has just appeared on the horizon," she remarked in a conversational tone.
"Mm?" The paper rustled as he turned the page.
"And they are putting longboats ashore to raid the town," she went on. "Can't you hear the warning bells of St. Nicholas's?"
He looked up with a start. "Eh? Warning bells?"
"Oh, so you do listen eventually," she declared. "I vow the French really could be at the door, and you would still be browsing contentedly through that newspaper. The next time we have someone to dinner, I am going to insist that you take less port afterward, for I vow it makes you far too dull at the edges."
He gave her a charming but rather sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, my dear. Now, what was it you were saying?"
"Lady Evangeline is away for Christmas, but the lights are on at the house, and I have just seen a strange young woman looking out of the drawing room window."
"Strange? In what way? Does she have two heads?"
Chloe became cross again. "You know perfectly well what I mean, Papa!" He raised a teasing eyebrow, and she colored. "I-I was wondering if perhaps one of her guests has arrived after all," she added.
"We know all her usual guests," he pointed out.
"Yes, but-"
"But?"
Chloe bit her lip and looked away. "Well, perhaps I should go across-"
"And see if there is news of Rupert?" he finished for her.
"Certainly not!"
"That is a great pity." He folded the newspaper and put it on the table beside his chair. "From the heated manner of that last response. I must presume that you are still angry with him?"
"Angry? I'm not anything anymore, Papa. Rupert Radcliffe is of no interest to me, especially now that…" She didn't finish.
He got up and went to pour himself a large glass of cognac. "I do hope that you were not about to mention Mr. March's name," he murmured.
"And if I was?"
"I know that he has come to mean much to you, my dear, but I do not care for him."
"Why not?" she asked in dismay. "He has just been all that is charming and courteous."
"I know, but I can't help how I feel," her father replied, resuming his seat.
"Just because you and Lady Evangeline have decided that Rupert and I would be a fine match! That's it, isn't it? Well, I do not need to remind you that it was Rupert who broke our friendship, not me."
"No, my dear, you do not need to remind me. Nor, I dare say, would you need to remind Rupert himself, who I am sure now regrets his actions."
"I doubt that very much."
"Chloe-"
"Papa, I do not wish to speak of Lord Rupert Radcliffe, indeed I do not even wish to think of him. Oliver is in my heart now, and I intend to continue to see him. Unless, of course, you mean to forbid it?"
"No, my dear, I will not do that, for I know only too well that to forbid you will only make you the more determined."
"So you will not mind if he takes me to St. Nicholas's church in the morning, to help with the Christmas decorations?"
"I will mind very much, but I will not prevent you from going."
"Well, that is that, then," she declared, as she gathered her skirts and hastened from the room.
Her father gazed sadly after her. He didn't want Mr. Oliver March as a son-in-law, but he very much feared he was going to get him. He glanced toward the window. It was very tiresome of Evangeline et al to be away this Christmas. If things had gone on in the usual way, there might have been a chance to rectify the sorry situation, but with Evangeline in Bath and Rupert in London… well, the way was clear for Mr. March.
With a sigh, the admiral drained the glass of cognac, then grimaced.
Meanwhile at Radcliffe House, Megan had put the young woman in the house opposite from her thoughts, and was studying the portrait of Mrs. Siddons. Suddenly Rollo's footsteps crossed the hall again, and she turned with a gasp, having momentarily forgotten all about the ghost. Her curiosity got the better of her as the steps moved away, and she went out into the hall to follow the sound to the theater. She halted at the entrance, listening to Rollo walk down through the auditorium, past the strange black tent, then up on to the stage, where the curtain shivered slightly as he halted in front of it.
He cleared his throat dramatically, and to her astonishment began to declaim one of Shakespeare's most famous soliloquies as if wishing to be heard out on the Steine. " 'To be or not to be: that is the question…' "
A ghost who recited Hamlet at the top of his spectral lungs? It was so unexpected that Megan almost curled up with stifled mirth, although she doubted if he intended to be anything other than serious.
He continued his flamboyant oration. " 'Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. And by it… And by the…' " There was a loud sigh as the next line eluded him. "Oh, plague take it! When will the words remain in this foolish noddle?" he grumbled in quaint old-fashioned English, then the hem of the curtain was raised briefly by an invisible hand, and the ghostly footsteps retreated to the back of the stage. After that there was the sort of silence that told Megan he had departed for the time being.
Suddenly she felt a great deal better about her new post, for how could one be afraid of-or disconcerted by-a spirit who fancied himself a great actor? No wonder Lady Evangeline put up with him! Still smiling, she turned back to the hall, and was immediately confronted by Edward the footman, who had been watching her.
"What are you doing out here? You were supposed to stay in the drawing room!" he said haughtily, thus making clear his inflated opinion of himself, and low opinion of her.
"I-I'm sorry," she replied. "I thought I heard someone making a speech in the theater."
"No one is allowed in there unless her ladyship is present. That applies to you too."
"I'll try to remember."
"Your room's ready. Come on." He paused. "And don't think that because you're in the blue chamber, you can lord it over the rest of us."
"I know my place." Which is more than you do, she added silently.
He eyed her for a moment as if sensing her unspoken thought, but then he conducted her up to a fine second-floor room on the Great East Street side of the house. "This is yours," he announced pushing the door open. "Just don't forget you're still a servant, and while there are guests, you'll be eating with us in the kitchens, so don't think you can treat us to airs and graces."
Megan was provoked as she went inside. "If anyone has airs and graces, it's you," she replied, and closed the door firmly in his face. She guessed that he would now paint a very black picture of her to the other servants, but she was philosophical about it, for she had endured a similar situation at Lady Jane's, but had managed to rise above it and make some good friends. With luck she would do the same here.
She glanced around the room. It warranted its name, for nearly everything was blue, except for a rose marble fireplace and a white ceiling that was richly picked out with gold. A fire crackled in the hearth, and there were lighted candles on the mantel, on either side of a garniture of fine blue-and-white Chinese porcelain vases. The four-poster bed had sapphire-blue hangings, and she lifted her portmanteau on to it to begin unpacking. Her back was to the door, and her hood fell over her hat again as she bent over it.
Suddenly the door was flung open. "You impudent light-fingered scoundrel!" someone cried, and before she knew what was happening, an assailant had launched himself at her. She was knocked sprawling facedown on the bed beneath him.