Grayson nodded, waited for more.
Pip said, “I tell P.C. Barnaby’s too big for her to smash. Aunt Alex, Barnaby has red hair and blue eyes, like you.”
Alex smiled. “Indeed he does.”
“Do you think he could belong to you?”
Once the children were out the door, Douglas called out, “Grayson, a moment, please.”
Grayson turned, his head cocked to the side.
“The little boy, Barnaby—he looks familiar to me, but you said he was an orphan, left on the church steps as a baby and taken in by the Wolffe family. So why, I wonder, could he possibly look familiar?”
“He looks familiar to me as well, sir. I’ve thought and thought, but no name comes to mind. I hope you have better luck, Uncle Douglas. Now, I’m off to the white cliffs. Thanks for letting me ride Garth. He’s splendid.”
“Take care he doesn’t toss you over his head. It’s one of his favorite tricks. That, and whipping his head around and taking a bite of your knee. Enjoy freezing your parts off.”
CHAPTER THREE
Later that evening
Grayson was blessedly tired after a full day herding three excited children on the beach below the white cliffs. Mr. Ramsey didn’t find the water cold, which was astounding, and the children did indeed try to drown the both of them, as Uncle Douglas had said. Still, he wasn’t about to let himself go to sleep, not yet. She would come—she always did. He spun story ideas, wondering what new demon or spirit his manly hero Thomas Straithmore would overcome in his next adventure.
Between one breath and the next, there she was, the resident Northcliffe ghost, the Virgin Bride. As always, she made no sound, simply appeared, hovering at the end of his bed. Her young face was as pale as alabaster, smooth and soft looking, just as beautiful and unchanging as it had been when he’d been a boy visiting his cousins so many years before. Her long pale hair hung loose down her back—beautiful hair, thick, like spun summer clouds. She floated, simply floated, shimmering like nearly colorless veils. She didn’t speak—she was dead, after all—but she thought her words. It was Uncle Douglas’s gospel that she never visited a Sherbrooke male, only suggestible, weak-minded ladies. But she’d come to him and to his cousins as well from their earliest memories, and what to make of that? The Virgin Bride was the Sherbrooke ladies’ protector, Aunt Alex said, to which Uncle Douglas snorted and muttered, “Female hysterics.”
“Hello,” Grayson said, pulling himself up against his pillows. “I’m glad to see you. When you didn’t come to welcome me last night, I worried something had happened to you.” Although, what could happen to a ghost he couldn’t imagine. He wished again he knew her name, but she’d never told him, and he’d asked her. He almost asked her if she’d been well, then realized it was a stupid question.
She thought to him, I was visiting your aunt Sinjun and uncle Colin and Pearlin’ Jane in Scotland. She has added flesh, and so I told her—not Sinjun, but Jane. I asked her how she could float about properly in her ridiculous pearls with the added flesh, and she threw one of her pearls at me. Grayson, I must tell you, there is something about Olafar Ramsey, the twins’ tutor. He is not what he seems.
He was still thinking about Pearlin’ Jane gaining flesh, wondering how the devil a ghost could gain flesh. She didn’t eat, so— “What do you mean? Have you seen him act strangely? Have you seen him mistreat the children?”
She swayed a bit, leaned closer. Oh no, Olafar loves children as much as I do. Ah, P.C., what a smart little nubbin she is. And Barnaby, he’s a beautiful child, so full of life. I know I have seen someone who resembles him. My little Pip tells me ghost stories, just like you did, Grayson. No, it is not that at all. Olafar is different. He is not a demon, at least I do not think he is, but he is not quite human like you either. I am not certain what he is. His heart, it beats very loudly, but perhaps he was simply frightened when I appeared to him and I am wrong. But I do not think so. I asked him who he was, and he told me readily enough. When I asked him what he was, he said he was himself, nothing more. And what does that mean?
I am worried, Grayson. You must find out who he is, what he is. I expect you to see to it. I must admit I like him. He is shy, but—
There was a light knock on his door. As it opened, the Virgin Bride simply disappeared. Grayson whispered to the blank air, “Wait, what about Barnaby’s father? Who is he? What about Olafar not being like me?” But she was gone. Pip ran full tilt to the bed and leaped up. Grayson scooped him into his arms, held him. “What is wrong? Is someone ill?”
Pip hiccupped against his father’s neck. “No, no, a nightmare, Papa. P.C. woke me up, told me to stop being a baby, that there weren’t any dragons in the room, but there were, Papa, there were, but they left. Then she whispered in my ear she’d heard you talking to someone, and how could that be when you weren’t close by the nursery? So we came.” Pip craned his head around. “I told P.C. you were probably talking to the Virgin Bride. Where is she, Papa? She hasn’t visited me yet.”
P.C. hovered a moment in the doorway, then raced to the bed to jump up and snuggle next to him and Pip. “I heard you talking, sir, and I knew someone must be talking back to you, but I couldn’t hear her. Pip told me it was a girl ghost from before people spoke English properly, but of course I didn’t believe him.”
Grayson hugged her. “You heard me speaking? But how is that possible, P.C.?”
“I don’t know, but I did, and I knew it was a female. Yes, it was a she, and I thought of my mama and knew she might shoot you if there was a lady in your room, and since she isn’t here, I knew I had to take care of it myself. A ghost? That is absurd, despite what Pip says.” Still, P.C. looked about, but the room was dark and she couldn’t see very far. “Where is the lady, sir? In the armoire? I don’t see her. And why do you have a lady in your bedchamber? What gall.”
“I tried to tell her, Papa, you were speaking to the Virgin Bride, but she said I was a loony and to shut my trap and stop trying to scare her, that only Thomas Straithmore speaks to ghosts and demons and spirits. Well, and her grandmama speaks to Alphonse all the time, but he’s not a ghost, he’s a picture.”
Grayson wanted to laugh, but he held it in. He himself had spoken to Alphonse once, a courtier in Queen Bess’s court in the late sixteenth century. A powerful presence was Alphonse, both during his life and after his death. Grayson said, “Pip’s right, I was speaking to the Virgin Bride, P.C. She lives here at Northcliffe. She died a very long time ago. I imagine she’ll visit you, just as she visits Pip and his cousins, Douglas and Everett. Perhaps Barnaby too. She loves children.”
P.C. came up on her knees and crossed her arms over her white nightshirt. “That won’t do, sir, although as an excuse it might fool Pip. No, my mama will say I made it up to protect you, and mayhap she’ll swat me. She won’t like this at all. Where is she, sir? Where is this so-called ghost lady?” P.C. called out, “I know you’re here. Come out and show yourself. Promise me you are not trying to steal Mr. Sherbrooke’s attentions from my mama.”