Halloween Magic Read online

  At the castle, Nicholas hadn’t felt Judith’s brief touch before the churchyard watcher shattered her magic, and she had been flung back into the grove. But the scream of the vixen disturbed him, and he sat up with a start.

  His first thought was of Judith, and he glanced uneasily around the room, but soon sensed no one was there. Relieved, he flung the bedclothes aside and went to the window, which he opened to let the cool night air into the room. He shivered a little, for he had nothing on, but the chill felt pleasant as he gazed toward Wychavon church in the distance. He knew Verity wasn’t in the village, but had gone to London, for news like that traveled as quickly as old Joshua himself! The magistrate’s unseemly haste had caused talk, and everyone was hazarding a guess as to why he’d whisked his niece away so suddenly.

  Nicholas ran a hand through his dark hair. He wished he could put Verity Windsor from his mind, but he couldn’t. She seemed to be all around him still. Judith Villiers might be here and very available, but he felt nothing for her—except perhaps distaste. For Verity, however, he felt the very opposite. He wanted her so much it was a pain that sounded through him like a bell. But she’d gone to London for the entire Season, and God alone knew when she’d return....

  He turned from the window, and his glance fell upon the little table, and the portable escritoire with its London correspondence. A slow smile came to his lips. There was nothing to keep him here in Wychavon, he could return to London if he chose. And choose he did.

  Old Joshua might think he’d successfully plucked his niece from the clutches of a dastardly scoundrel, but he hadn’t, for the scoundrel intended to give chase!

  * * *

  Judith regained consciousness in the grove. Her head was swimming unpleasantly, and as she sat up she retched. She saw the candles lying on the grass and the crushed censer, and then the wheelmarks in the grass. Her eyes widened, and she got up slowly, putting out a hand to the Lady to steady herself.

  What had happened here? Her eyes followed the marks toward the track in one direction, and then to the edge of the millpool in the other. A sense of deep horror spread through her, for she knew of only one vehicle that could come out of the depths like that—the churchyard watcher. The admiral! Fear settled over her as she thought of the husband she’d murdered through her dark powers, for suddenly he didn’t seem so safely and finally dispatched.

  She began to tremble and put her arms around herself, wincing as she touched the burn on her arm. She stared at the red mark, which was clearly visible in the thin light of the moon. How had she been burned? Had she fallen on one of the candles? Her disquiet increased, and quickly she gathered her things together and hastened into the mill, where she hid them under the staircase. Then she flung her cloak around her shoulders and ran out of the grove.

  The corpse candle didn’t appear as she reached the road, but she detected a strange atmosphere that made her halt warily. She glanced all around, shivering a little as a slight breeze stirred through the trees. The vixen screamed again, and there was a rustling in the undergrowth, but that was all. After a moment she hurried on, and the flowers in the verge swayed in the draft from her billowing cloak.

  But as she passed the lychgate, she glanced toward the church and didn’t see the little pothole in the road. Her foot caught, her ankle twisted violently, and with a gasp of pain she stumbled to her knees. Tears sprang to her eyes, and her fingers trembled as she examined the ankle. It throbbed agonizingly, and she had to close her eyes.

  Then she glanced uneasily around. The vicarage was to one side of her, and Sadie Cutler’s cottage a little further along on the opposite side, yet she didn’t dare call out for help. Somehow she had to get back to the house without anyone knowing she’d been out at such an hour, for beneath the cloak she wore nothing except Hecate’s garter!

  Wincing as fresh waves of pain lanced through her, she managed to drag herself to the verge, where a sycamore tree that had been felled the year before had thrown up sturdy new growth from the stump. Almost fainting from the pangs from her ankle, she managed to break off one of the shoots to use as a walking stick. Then she began to make her painful way toward the ford.

  It took her some time to cross, and by the time she reached the manor house gate she was exhausted, but at last she reached sanctuary. Once inside she tore off the red garter and hid it in a carved chest in the hall, then she commenced the final agonizing yards upstairs to her room.

  Somehow she managed to hang her cloak in the wardrobe and put on a nightgown, then she eased herself weakly onto the bed and lay there in the darkness. Her ankle was throbbing and swollen, and she knew that at the very least she’d given it a savage wrench. Tears of frustration pricked her eyes, for this would halt her plans for the time being.

  She couldn’t do anything if she couldn’t reach the grove. If she had the seal, it would be different, for then she’d be empowered to do a great deal wherever she was. But she didn’t have it, and so she was temporarily reduced to virtual impotency. She clenched her fists and beat them furiously on the bed coverlet.

  * * *

  It was at breakfast the next morning that Nicholas announced his decision to return to London. Anna immediately put her cup down with a clatter, the lappets of her lace day bonnet quivering as she eyed him across the table.

  “You intend to leave again immediately!” she repeated.

  “Yes.”

  Oliver gave a sigh and sat back. “This is becoming rather wearisome, you know, Nick,” he murmured.

  Nicholas nodded. “Yes, I do know, and I’m sorry, but—”

  Anna got up with an irritated rustle of rose taffeta. “There shouldn’t be any buts, Nicholas!” she said sharply. “It doesn’t take a great intellect to arrive at your reason for returning. It’s Miss Windsor, isn’t it?”

  He avoided her eyes. “Anna, this really isn’t any—”

  “Of my business?” she interrupted. “I’m afraid it is, sir, when you invited us here to enjoy your company!”

  “I’m sorry, Anna, but it’s important to me.”

  She came around the table. “Honorably important? Or lasciviously important?” she demanded.

  Oliver’s lips parted. “I say, Anna, steady on ...”

  She ignored him, her bright gaze still upon Nicholas. “Well, sir?”

  He met her eyes. “I fail to see why I should respond to such a question, Anna,” he said quietly.

  “Then I will draw my own conclusions. Oh, Nicholas, I’m gravely disappointed in you. I’ve always believed you to be a proper gentleman, but everything you do these days points to the opposite being the case.”

  “You’re being grossly unfair to me, Anna.”

  “Prove it.”

  Nicholas looked up quizzically. “Prove it? How?”

  “By staying here.”

  He got up slowly. “Why should I do that?”

  “Because you should have other priorities than your breeches,” she said frankly.

  Oliver stared at her. “Anna!”

  “It’s true! Everything he’s done recently has been ruled by his base male urges, and I think it’s intolerable. If he wishes to retain any of my respect, he must behave more temperately.”

  Oliver raised an eyebrow and then looked at Nicholas. “What do you say to that, Nick?” he asked lightly.

  Nicholas glanced at him. “I know what I’d like to say, but contrary to popular belief, I am a gentleman.” He turned to Anna. “How long do you want me to stay here?”

  “A month at the very least,” she replied flatly. “Anything less and I will regale Miss Windsor with all manner of tales about you.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Anna Henderson.”

  A light passed through her eyes. “Needs must, sir.”

  The ghost of a smile played upon his lips. “Very well, a month it is. I swear upon my honor—disputed as it is—that I will remain here at Wychavon until some time in June.”

  She raised her chin. “I’m going to hold you
to that, Nicholas Montacute, for Miss Windsor is far too good to be pursued for shabby reasons. I’ll have far more respect for your interest in her if you show a little restraint.” With that she turned on her heel and left the room.

  Nicholas glanced at Oliver, who shrugged. “Don’t look to me for sympathy, Nick, old man, for I happen to agree with her,” he declared, reaching forward to help himself to another warm bread roll.

  But events were to conspire to keep Nicholas in Wychavon for longer than even Anna demanded. A combination of problems on the estate, and magisterial matters in Ludlow and Shrewsbury were to keep him occupied until the middle of July.

  It would be July fifteenth, St. Swithin’s Day, before he would at last set off for London.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The tradition of forty days of rain if the weather was bad on St. Swithin’s Day seemed unlikely to be tested, for that day dawned as bright, clear, and endlessly sunny as most of the summer had been so far.

  At the manor house, Judith took her usual lonely breakfast in the room facing over the garden and summerhouse where she’d been found during the Halloween storm. It was the first morning she’d been able to move around without the use of a walking stick, for she hadn’t just twisted her ankle when she fell by the lychgate, she had broken it quite badly.

  Now, after two months of hobbling, she was at last beginning to feel fit again. Not that her temper had improved. Being incapacitated just when her plans seemed likely to come to fruition, had put her in a constantly vile mood. Most of her maids had been reduced to tears, and the butler had actually walked out rather than endure any more of his disagreeable mistress.

  Judith was indifferent to the wretchedness she caused her servants, for she was entirely without conscience whatever she did, and as the St. Swithin’s Day sun beamed in through the window, her thoughts were of Nicholas and how she intended to resume her plan by going to the grove again that very night.

  There was something else she had to do at the grove. She still had no idea where the seal had gone, but could nevertheless feel its presence somewhere in the village, and she intended to call Hecate’s wrath down upon Martha Cansford, who, she was convinced, was responsible for hiding it. If the old woman were to be sufficiently frightened, she would confess the seal’s whereabouts.

  Judith’s fingers drummed on the white tablecloth as she brooded upon Verity’s nurse, but then the drumming ceased as something made her glance up at the portrait above the mantelshelf. It was a full-length likeness of the admiral in dress uniform, looking splendid against a Caribbean background. Quite suddenly it seemed to the witch that his painted eyes were gazing bleakly down at her.

  A shiver ran over her as she remembered the spectral wheel marks running across the grove from the millpool, and for a moment it seemed she could hear the ghastly rattle of the watcher’s cart. The sound was so real that she gave a frightened start as a maid gave a tap at the door.

  “Madam?”

  Judith’s eyes flashed angrily. “What is it?” she demanded.

  The maid came respectfully and timidly in. “Lord Montacute has called, madam,” she explained.

  Judith stared at her. “Lord Montacute?” she repeated.

  “Yes, madam. He wishes to speak urgently with you.”

  An anticipatory smile crept to Judith’s lips. Now why would he call upon her? She sat back in her chair. “Please show him in.”

  “Madam.” The maid bobbed a curtsy, and hurried away again.

  Footsteps sounded in the passage, then Nicholas entered the room and faced her. He wore a dove gray coat, amethyst waistcoat, white trousers, and Hessian boots, and his dark hair was slightly ruffled.

  She smiled. “Good morning, Lord Montacute.”

  “Madam.”

  “To what do I owe this honor?”

  “No honor, madam, for this is not a social call.”

  “Oh?” She searched his face.

  “I’ll come straight to the point. I wish to buy this house from you, and I’m prepared to pay well over the odds in order to do so.”

  She was taken aback. “But why do you wish to do that, my lord?”

  “Because I want you out of Wychavon,” he said quietly.

  Her lips parted, and anger crept into her gaze. “How very ungallant, to be sure,” she murmured.

  “Ungallant, but necessary. I don’t profess to know what your purpose is, neither do I care, but I do care that in the recent past you’ve made intimate and unwarranted intrusions into my privacy. In order to prevent further such occurrences, I’ve consulted a lawyer in Shrewsbury, and it is his advice that I make this offer, which, under the circumstances, I think more than generous.”

  Her eyes were cold. “It would seem you have forgotten how we made love at your castle, my lord,” she murmured.

  “Oh, no, madam. I haven’t forgotten anything. I don’t know what really happened that night, nor indeed do I understand the other occasion in the gardens, but I certainly know that I didn’t want either event to occur.”

  She got up and came around the table. “Did you push me away?”

  He didn’t reply.

  She smiled. “You made me yours in every way, my lord, and you cannot deny it. Or are you suggesting I forced you against your will?”

  “I’m suggesting that there is something very strange about you, Mrs. Villiers, something that repels me completely. You have a way of appearing and disappearing, and of insinuating yourself on my property without permission, I’m returning to London now, but—”

  Alarm rushed into her, and she interrupted him. “You’re returning to London?”

  “Yes. My carriage is at the door.”

  “Why are you going?”

  Her voice had risen a little, and he drew back warily. “My reasons have nothing to do with you, madam.”

  “They have everything to do with me!” she cried, caught so completely by surprise and dismay that she was no longer rational.

  He turned to go. “Please consider my offer, and then contact my agent when you decide,” he said.

  She rushed to place herself between him and the door. “Is this how the Montacutes treat defenseless widows? Using them and then casting them aside?” The words were hurried and uttered through clenched teeth as she tried to regain mastery of herself.

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Villiers, defenseless is the last word I’d use to describe you.”

  “You can’t leave!” she cried.

  “Please step aside.”

  “No.”

  He caught her arm and drew her away from the door, then he walked past, snatching up his hat and gloves from the hall table before striding out into the sunshine.

  Stumbling a little because her ankle was still weak, Judith ran after him. “You have to stay!” she cried.

  A maid was in the hall, and she turned in astonishment at the sight of her mistress pursuing Lord Montacute. Judith tried to catch his arm, but he shook himself free and kept walking away.

  Anna and Oliver’s traveling carriage drove past at that moment, and they saw everything. Anna glanced at her husband. “What do you make of that?” she murmured curiously.

  He cleared his throat. “I, er, don’t know.”

  She eyed him. “Oh, yes, you do. I can tell by the tone of your voice. Who is the redheaded beauty?”

  “Well, I can’t be certain, but from her widow’s weeds I’d hazard a guess she’s a certain Mrs. Villiers.” He told her what had happened when he and Nicholas had been at target practice.

  Anna looked crossly at him. “Oliver Henderson, you’ve known this since the beginning of May and yet haven’t said a single word to me? How could you!”

  “I didn’t think it was of any significance,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably on his seat.

  “Not of any significance? Oh, Oliver!” She glared at him. “After all I said to him that morning he announced his intention to return to London, the least you could have done was confide in me afterward. Instead
you let more than two months pass by, without so much as a syllable passing your lips.”

  “Oh, come on, Anna, it’s hardly a heinous crime to forget what’s probably a worthless titbit.”

  “Worthless? I’ve just seen Mrs. Villiers, don’t forget,” she said dryly, thinking of the beautiful red-haired woman who had pursued Nicholas from the manor house. “The lady appeared to me to be just the sort that a virile fellow like Nicholas Montacute would find to his taste.”

  “Anna, you’re letting your tongue run away with you. I’ve seen Nick speak to her on one occasion, that’s all, and I promise you he didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her.”

  “He wasn’t particularly pleased when I challenged him to stay on in Wychavon, but he agreed to my request. Now I can see why!” Anna declared. “For the past two months, far from pining after Miss Windsor, he’s been consoling himself with this Mrs. Villiers!”

  Oliver ran his hand through his hair. “You’re impossible,” he murmured.

  “Maybe, but I’m also right, am I not? Nicholas has been conducting a liaison with the admiral’s widow?”

  “I—I don’t know, and that’s the truth,” Oliver admitted then, for he really had no idea what had been going on.

  Anna smoothed the folds of her sage green silk pelisse, then retied the ribbons of her bonnet. “His conduct has really become quite intolerable, and I think I should call on Miss Windsor as soon as possible, to warn her about him.”

  “Do so, by all means, but don’t be surprised if her uncle sends out your cards ripped in half!” Oliver replied.

  “If he does, he does, but I have to try. I don’t want Miss Windsor’s ruin to be on my conscience, which it would be if I stood by and said nothing about this.”

  He held her gaze. “And what else will you feel obliged to tell her about Nick at the same time?”

  “I—I don’t know.”

  “Well, perhaps I should tell you that Nicholas claims to be innocent of the charge, so maybe you’ll remember that if you feel the urge to blacken his name still further with Miss Windsor.”

  Anna flushed a little. “Well, Nicholas would claim innocence, wouldn’t he?”