from the Battle of Waterloo, and ‘e wants ‘is medal back.”
Grayson nodded. It sounded right to him.
Miranda slowly nodded. “But why would the spirit come now? Waterloo was years ago. Why begin this reign of terror now? Why not right after the battle? And the Great is looking for the spirit’s medal.”
Grayson said, “But it appears the voice couldn’t get the name through to the Great. So it tried you and P.C. Still no luck, so it’s taken the next step.” He sent Pip a worried look, but of course Pip wasn’t afraid. He’d been raised with talk of spirits and malignant creatures. His eyes glowed with excitement.
P.C. whispered, “Barnaby, Bickle slipped behind that maple tree. He’s only twelve yards from Pip.”
Pip looked over at the strange little man dressed in a shiny black coat, and waved to him. Bickle looked aghast and dived behind a yew bush.
Grayson said, “What about the servants? Do they know about the funnel? About the two dreams? About you and P.C. running from the house?”
Miranda said, “Oh yes, servants always know everything that happens. They’re nervous, on edge. But not Suggs.”
P.C. called out, “Bickle, we see you. You will not steal Pip. Go away.”
From behind the oak tree came a squeaky voice. “You know I must continue stalking my prey, Miss P.C., else his lordship will not eat properly and I worry.”
“This is all very strange, Papa,” Pip said, never taking his eyes off Bickle.
* * * * *
When Grayson returned to the Great’s study with one minute to go, Suggs informed him that his lordship had left to pay visits to his tenants. It was just as well. Grayson had some reading to do. He and Pip took their leave of Miranda and P.C. Grayson found himself looking down at Miranda Wolffe, and he was smiling. “Don’t worry, we will figure all this out. And soon.”
CHAPTER TEN
Belhaven House
Friday, midnight
Grayson awoke from a dream struggling with a banshee who looked remarkably like the Great. He was trying to grab up Pip and run out the door when he snapped awake at the yelling and banging on the front door.
He threw on his dressing gown, grabbed his pistol off the shelf in his dressing room, and ran downstairs. He threw open the door to see Miranda and P.C., both in their nightclothes, hair bedraggled, huddled together on the front step.
He quickly herded them inside and without a thought brought them both against him. They were trembling, but he didn’t think it was from cold. No, it was from fear. What had happened? He heard another shout.
It was Barnaby, and he had Musgrave Jr. tucked inside his jacket. Musgrave was not a happy cat. He bounded out, a calico blur, and skidded across the entrance hall. The four of them watched him fetch up against a table leg. He turned to look at them, tail swishing, and he proceeded to wash himself.
“Come here,” Grayson said, and in the next moment, he was trying to hold all three of them against him, his hands stroking backs, saying over and over that it would be all right now. Musgrave meowed, tail high, and walked into the drawing room.
“Well, Musgrave’s all right,” P.C. said. “That’s good. Why did you bring him, Barnaby?”
“‘E were outside, yowlin’ ‘is fur off, P.C., so what could I do?”
“You did the right thing,” Miranda said, then looked at Grayson. “Oh dear, I hope you do not mind Musgrave making himself at home in your drawing room?”
“Not at all.”
Grayson heard Haddock’s deep voice and turned to see him holding a candle high, Mrs. Elvan behind him, her hair wound around in tight little rags all over her head, holding up her own candle.
“Sir, may I ask why we have visitors at this hour?”
“I don’t know as yet, Haddock,” Grayson said. “Mrs. Elvan, if you would give me your candle and accompany Haddock to the kitchen and prepare some tea?” He looked at Barnaby and P.C. “Mrs. Elvan, may we also have some of your delicious walnut cake left over from
Grayson nodded. It sounded right to him.
Miranda slowly nodded. “But why would the spirit come now? Waterloo was years ago. Why begin this reign of terror now? Why not right after the battle? And the Great is looking for the spirit’s medal.”
Grayson said, “But it appears the voice couldn’t get the name through to the Great. So it tried you and P.C. Still no luck, so it’s taken the next step.” He sent Pip a worried look, but of course Pip wasn’t afraid. He’d been raised with talk of spirits and malignant creatures. His eyes glowed with excitement.
P.C. whispered, “Barnaby, Bickle slipped behind that maple tree. He’s only twelve yards from Pip.”
Pip looked over at the strange little man dressed in a shiny black coat, and waved to him. Bickle looked aghast and dived behind a yew bush.
Grayson said, “What about the servants? Do they know about the funnel? About the two dreams? About you and P.C. running from the house?”
Miranda said, “Oh yes, servants always know everything that happens. They’re nervous, on edge. But not Suggs.”
P.C. called out, “Bickle, we see you. You will not steal Pip. Go away.”
From behind the oak tree came a squeaky voice. “You know I must continue stalking my prey, Miss P.C., else his lordship will not eat properly and I worry.”
“This is all very strange, Papa,” Pip said, never taking his eyes off Bickle.
* * * * *
When Grayson returned to the Great’s study with one minute to go, Suggs informed him that his lordship had left to pay visits to his tenants. It was just as well. Grayson had some reading to do. He and Pip took their leave of Miranda and P.C. Grayson found himself looking down at Miranda Wolffe, and he was smiling. “Don’t worry, we will figure all this out. And soon.”
CHAPTER TEN
Belhaven House
Friday, midnight
Grayson awoke from a dream struggling with a banshee who looked remarkably like the Great. He was trying to grab up Pip and run out the door when he snapped awake at the yelling and banging on the front door.
He threw on his dressing gown, grabbed his pistol off the shelf in his dressing room, and ran downstairs. He threw open the door to see Miranda and P.C., both in their nightclothes, hair bedraggled, huddled together on the front step.
He quickly herded them inside and without a thought brought them both against him. They were trembling, but he didn’t think it was from cold. No, it was from fear. What had happened? He heard another shout.
It was Barnaby, and he had Musgrave Jr. tucked inside his jacket. Musgrave was not a happy cat. He bounded out, a calico blur, and skidded across the entrance hall. The four of them watched him fetch up against a table leg. He turned to look at them, tail swishing, and he proceeded to wash himself.
“Come here,” Grayson said, and in the next moment, he was trying to hold all three of them against him, his hands stroking backs, saying over and over that it would be all right now. Musgrave meowed, tail high, and walked into the drawing room.
“Well, Musgrave’s all right,” P.C. said. “That’s good. Why did you bring him, Barnaby?”
“‘E were outside, yowlin’ ‘is fur off, P.C., so what could I do?”
“You did the right thing,” Miranda said, then looked at Grayson. “Oh dear, I hope you do not mind Musgrave making himself at home in your drawing room?”
“Not at all.”
Grayson heard Haddock’s deep voice and turned to see him holding a candle high, Mrs. Elvan behind him, her hair wound around in tight little rags all over her head, holding up her own candle.
“Sir, may I ask why we have visitors at this hour?”
“I don’t know as yet, Haddock,” Grayson said. “Mrs. Elvan, if you would give me your candle and accompany Haddock to the kitchen and prepare some tea?” He looked at Barnaby and P.C. “Mrs. Elvan, may we also have some of your delicious walnut cake left over from
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