Eighteen

“That means I’m going to tell them I’m not scared of Papa, so then they won’t be either. I’m helping.”

“Yes,” I said, “you are.”

As soon as Fibbens-amazingly at home with members of the spirit world, it seemed to me-had led Charles from the room, I told Lucien what I had learned. He listened thoughtfully.

“I took another look at the branch this morning,” I said. “I realized that the bloodstains were on a section of the branch that you could not have struck with your head while riding. The bloodstains were on a part of the branch that was too close to the trunk of the tree-close to where it broke off from the trunk.”

“A part of the branch much thicker, I suppose, than the section I would have struck if I had ridden into it.”

“Yes. The Banes undoubtedly heard the story of their father’s encounter with ruffians many times. And of the persons currently staying or working at the Abbey, only the Banes and their personal servants would not know that Charles prefers his chambers to be darkened.”

“It could be one of the Banes’s servants, I suppose,” Lucien said, and I did not miss the note of hopefulness in his voice.

“No servant would gain from your death, Lucien. I do not like the idea of scandal in the family any more than you do, but Charles is very young, and by the time he is in society, this will be long forgotten.”

Lucien gave a bitter laugh. “Murder is unlikely to pass so quickly from even the haut ton’s collection of shallow minds. But for now, our first thoughts must be for Charles’s safety.”

“Yes.”

“So it is a Bane,” he said. “I do not believe it was Lady Bane-she would have made sure her wig was on.”

I laughed. “Nor can I picture her waiting patiently in the woods, or wearing Hessians.”

“All well and good. But now what?”

“I’m not certain which of the three ‘thatchgallows,’ as you once called them, it is.”

“Surely not Fa

“I would have ruled her out, until you told me of the boots. She was wearing a pair of them last night-and William and Henry were each already wearing their own. She’s strong. And remember how she used to spy on us?”

“Yes. But what would she have to gain?”

“I don’t know. Does she bear you any grudge?”

“Nothing to signify.” He couldn’t exactly blush, but he was obviously embarrassed.

I raised a brow. “She had a tendre for you?”

“She believed we ought to marry. It was certainly not out of affection-it was a stupid idea placed in her head by her pushing mama. Aunt Sophia also tried to persuade my father that I should marry Fa

“According to Fibbens, William did attempt to help put out the fire. But since he was not trained in one of your drills, he was more a nuisance than a help, and Bogsley-in his inimitable Bogsley way, persuaded him to leave before he caused harm. Still-how did he find out about the fire so much sooner than the others?”

“And Henry?”

“Supposedly drunk.”

“Supposedly?”

“Oh, several bottles of your finest port are missing.”

“Charles’s port! But you sound as if you doubt he drank them.”

“I’m not sure. I find myself wondering where the empty bottles are, and why, at breakfast this morning, he did not appear to be suffering any ill-effects of such a binge.”

“A veteran drinker might be able to manage both the bottles and the morning.”

“True. And since I have long avoided the Banes, I have no idea if our cousin is a souse or abstemious.”

“Which leaves us where we started.”

“Do you know, this morning I found myself thinking like a soldier for the first time in a long time.”

“Meaning?”

“We must use strategy, Lucien. And I believe we would do well to take the offensive, rather than wait for the murderous Bane to make another attempt on Charles’s life.”

“Ah!” he said, smiling. “You want to set a trap.”

“Yes. We will each have a role-including Charles. Do you suppose, dear Lucien, that you could play the part of a headless monk?”

Charles proved to be his father’s equal as an actor. He staged a perfect tantrum, with Fibbens providing able support, just outside the morning room, where Henry had settled into a chair before the fire to read a newspaper. Lucien told us that was how he was occupied just before Act I, Scene I. Five minutes or so later, a child’s voice was heard in the hallway just outside the morning room door.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts!” Charles said angrily.

“Perhaps not, your lordship, but the north tower is dangerous. Your father meant to undertake repairs but-”

“I’m not afraid. It’s my treasure!”

“Not so loud, please, your lordship!” Fibbens said, knowing perfectly well that Henry Bane was undoubtedly pressing his ear to the door.

“Uncle Edward knows how to find it.” Charles declared. “We’re going treasure hunting!”

“Not with a houseful of guests, your lordship. It would be-er, impolite.”

That was my cue. “Charles, Charles! Are you talking that treasure nonsense again?” I asked. After a brief pause, I said, “Fibbens, I believe I will need my heavier cloak-and his lordship will need his own as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Fibbens said, and treading heavily, left the hallway.

“Charles, what have I told you about the treasure?”

“That we will find it tonight, because you promised Papa you would show me where it is.”

“Yes. And what else?”

“Not to tell the Banes. But Fibbens isn’t the Banes.”

“Fibbens is entirely trustworthy, but you never know who might be listening. So please don’t discuss it with anyone else. Now, here’s Fibbens with our cloaks. Have you your gloves? Excellent. Let’s go for our walk.”

Two slight variations on this performance were given-once for the benefit of Fa

Only Lady Bane seemed to enjoy a normal appetite at di

Lucien’s role was proving the most difficult. To our dismay, he could not move objects, and any attempt to dress him in something other than the riding clothes he had been wearing on the day of his accident met with utter failure. Bogsley had unearthed the old headless abbot-the one the village seamstress had manufactured for that long ago Christmas haunting. It was losing its stuffing and looked a little aged, but we only needed the robe itself. However, when Lucien tried to put it on, it simply fell to the ground.

Making the best of what he could do, he practiced materializing, and soon had the knack of partial materialization. “I do so hate the prospect of being dead from the neck up,” he said, when he had managed to appear before us without a head. Charles, who had been rather thrilled with our story of swinging the “headless monk” past the Banes’s windows, asked the housekeeper if it might be possible to repair it. She stuffed a few pillows into the old costume, and our headless abbot had yet another round of life. Before falling asleep, Charles enjoyed playing with this large, if rather gruesome doll.

“Boys is all alike,” was the housekeeper’s assessment, with a nod toward Lucien and me.

At ten o’clock that evening, I awakened Charles from his brief slumbers. Bundled up in warm clothing, we carried shielded lanterns as we went through one of the secret passages to the north tower. The tower was built into the rise on which the Abbey stood. Perhaps at one time, it had indeed towered over the castle that had been here, but very little of the castle remained. Now the only apparent entrance to the tower was near the top of it-the tower was more akin to a well than a tower-more of it was reached by descending a staircase that by climbing. It was dank, musty smelling, and of no practical use.