The Strange Visitation at Wolffe Hall by Catherine Coulter Page A

dinner? A saucer of milk too, if you please, for Musgrave Jr.”
    Haddock and Mrs. Elvan eyed the three refugees, the little girl hugging a big cat to her chest, Mrs. Miranda hugging both children against her, looking a bit on edge herself. Grayson knew both of them were bursting their seams with curiosity. However, since they both knew they’d find out every detail by morning, they nodded and disappeared into the nether regions of the house.
    Grayson turned and gave a reassuring smile to his unexpected guests. He saw Miranda wasn’t wearing her glasses, and her hair hung loose in deep, heavy waves tangled around a face as white as the banshee’s face in his dream. But unlike the banshee’s fierce, bony face, hers was fine-boned, looked soft as silk, and was, he realized, a really quite lovely face.
    P.C., bless her heart, now that she knew she was safe, looked more excited than afraid, her eyes sparkling. As for Barnaby, unlike mother and daughter, he was fully dressed.
    “All that runnin’,” Barnaby said, “fair to made me stomach hollow. I’m ready to gnaw my elbow. Walnut cake, ye said, yer savior-hood?”
    Now savior-hood had a ring to it, but Grayson liked yer inkpotness best. “Yes, walnut cake, Barnaby. Mrs. Elvan’s is the best. It will fill in all the cracks in your stomach. Let’s go into the drawing room and you can tell me what’s happened.”
    “Papa! P.C.! Did the abyss come again?”
    No hope for it, Grayson thought, when he saw Mary Beth running down the stairs after Pip. He scooped up his son and nodded to Mary Beth. “All right. We’re all here now. Come along into the drawing room.”
    P.C. was out of breath, so Grayson took Musgrave Jr. from her, sat down in his big winged chair and placed the cat across his thighs. “All of you take a deep breath and calm yourselves. Everything is all right now. That’s right. Now, Miranda, tell me what happened.”
    Miranda drew in a deep, calming breath and got herself together, watching Grayson stroke his hand down Musgrave Jr.’s back, the cat purring so loudly she could hear him. She looked down at her bed-robe, at her slippered feet. “I didn’t even think to change—everything happened too fast. We’re all very glad you were home, Grayson. What happened—it was very frightening, and I knew we had to leave the manor.” She paused. “All right.” She drew another deep breath. “I was worried and couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t yet all that late, so I decided I wanted to speak to the Great. He didn’t come back for dinner after he escaped you this afternoon. I wanted to tell him neither P.C. nor I would leave Wolffe Hall. I was determined I wouldn’t let him shake his head and seam his lips at me anymore because I was a helpless female who had to be protected and kept ignorant.
    “He wasn’t in his bedchamber. I went downstairs and saw a light beneath the library door.” She looked over at the sprawled purring cat, at Pip, who’d moved closer to his father and was now petting the cat. “I knocked on the door, but there was no answer. I knocked again. Finally I opened the door.
    “I fully expected to see the Great in his ancient blue brocade dressing gown polishing a medal, ignoring any interruptions. But he was standing in front of his desk, his hands out in front of him, as if he would ward something off. It was then I saw it.”
    Mrs. Elvan appeared in the doorway, a covered silver tray in her arms, Haddock behind her, bringing tea. Miranda stopped talking until they left, steps slow. Grayson, however, knew they’d be listening outside the door, and that was all right. They were part of the family.
    P.C. poured the tea. Grayson set Musgrave Jr. on the floor and cut the cake, giving a big slice of walnut cake to Barnaby, who immediately stuffed it into his mouth. Grayson handed P.C. a healthy slice, then looked at Miranda. She shook her head. Musgrave Jr. put his paws on Grayson’s knee and meowed.
    “He loves cake,” P.C. said.