Betraying Mercy. Amber Lin

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СКАЧАТЬ some long-dormant sense of responsibility. He must return home, to this almost abandoned house, and settle any trouble. Despite his lack of tact, he must soothe any concerns. He smiled faintly. If nothing else, it would be practice for his time on the ship.

      His years scrambling and gambling and fighting for enough cash to keep his family’s land intact hadn’t imbued him with any diplomacy. He wasn’t always proud of what he’d done, but his father had cared about the title. His grandfather had cared about the people who lived on it. The least he could do was keep them from penury.

      Silence shrouded the house, the unnatural stillness a wan version of his memories. His mother could always be heard in one of her spells. Ever ineffectual, his father would beg and plead for her to stop. He’d always seemed so helpless in front of his wife. He’d never been helpless locked in his office with William, taking out his anger with his fists or a belt.

      It had always been loud in the house, drowning any preternatural creatures that were said to inhabit the area. Now a strange current ran through the damp air, causing gooseflesh to rise on his frozen skin.

      The butler probably thought it was a great joke to allow William to wander around the house. Gerald was stalwart and staid, as old retainers were wont to be, but he always took a secret glee in tormenting William. For his part, William had fought back with frogs and other boyhood pranks. A pretense of independence as they had both been trapped under the pious thumb of his father.

      The implacable tick of the hall clock grew louder in the stillness. Worry sparked inside him, but he refused to let it breathe. Floorboards above him creaked, and he lifted his gaze. Shadows lay heavy across the landing. For a moment, William reached for the pistol he kept in his coat when he traveled.

      He frowned. “Who’s there?”

      A man emerged from the darkness, and the unsteady light drew his face in sharp relief. Beck, his steward. William distantly recalled their last meeting. Beck had seemed deferential at the time, though now his posture seemed almost like a challenge.

      “Lord William.” Beck’s voice held surprise, and possibly…fear?

      The surprised was uncalled for, considering he’d written the note to bring William home. And Beck should not be on the upper levels. He had no business there. Anger broke free of the concern that gripped him, a welcome distraction.

      William climbed the stairs. “What the devil are you about?”

      Beck moved to intercept. “My lord, perhaps you should wait—”

      “I think not.”

      William brushed past him, feeling chills down his spine as old memories merged with the present. He was halfway down the hallway when a woman’s soft sobs floated to him from his mother’s bedroom. There. There was the proof that everything was as it should be. Not that he wanted his mother to cry, but after years of consoling her, there was a constancy to her tears.

      Except his mother had died ten years ago.

      Firelight flickered through the slim opening of the door. He pushed inside.

      Deep red spray marred a snowy white counterpane. A maid knelt on the floor, sobbing quietly. He went to her.

      “Are you hurt? What happened?”

      Her eyes widened as he approached. She backed up. Helplessly he turned back.

      Beck stood in the doorway. He shook his head. “It’s not hers. Not anyone’s.”

      The unspoken words rang in the silence. The ghosts. Ridiculous. He’d thought Beck a more rational man than that. Although the vision before him was chilling. And familiar.

      The view before him swayed, as if he were underwater, looking up. It was exactly like one of his mother’s visions of her death. He clung to that thought: this was a dream, not reality. Maybe her condition was contagious and now William had it, and that was why he saw such a false thing as blood where it shouldn’t be. With no body nearby.

      A prank. It must be.

      The sickly sweet smell of his mother’s lavender perfume still permeated the air, not tainted with the tang of copper. A wave of nausea swept over him. On leaden feat, he pressed forward to the side of the bed. He touched the fabric. Dry but not hardened, not black. How long ago had the blood been spilled? And from what source? A poor animal, most likely.

      “Who is allowed in here?” The words came out hollow, like his insides.

      “Any of us, milord.” The maid’s voice quavered. “The house maids or a manservant. We don’t keep it locked.”

      “Well, keep it locked,” he said too sharply.

      With a nod and indistinct mumble, she fled the room.

      He sighed. So much for diplomacy.

      Beck stood in the door frame, solemn, watchful.

      “Is this why you sent for me?” William asked.

      Beck shook his head slowly, his eyes haunted. “No, my lord. I did not. Though it’s good you’ve come. There’s trouble.”

      William frowned. If Beck didn’t write the note, then who did? He couldn’t worry about that now—more important, what the hell else had gone wrong?

      “Trouble?” he prompted. “At the abbey?”

      Beck raised an eyebrow. “No, but nearby.”

      William blinked. “There’s nothing nearby.” Except the manor. And…

      “The crypt,” Beck confirmed grimly.

      A curious calm descended over William. “What’s happened?”

      “It’s your mother. The seal was broken, so the gardener went inside. Her coffin was missing.”

       “Missing?”

      Beck swallowed audibly. “Indeed.”

      A chill ran over his skin. The blood he could dismiss as a prank. His mother’s body missing? No, the entire coffin. He couldn’t quite believe it. He had to see for himself.

      “We’ll go there. Now. Tonight.”

      William pushed past Beck into the hall. He thudded down the stairs, almost barreling into the butler. Gerald always had a scold or a criticism at the ready. William arrived so late. William tracked rainwater into the house. That was years ago, a lifetime and a childhood ago, but the past had caught up to him now, bleeding into the present. He’d thought he’d escaped.

      “I am sorry, my lord,” Gerald said, his eyes pitying.

      Hell. He must look worse off than he thought. “A misunderstanding, I’m sure,” he said. Even though he wasn’t sure of that, unless he was the one misunderstanding. Everything was mixed up. Everyone was sorry. And all he wanted to do was leave.

      Leave Essex, leave England. Leave behind the past of failure and tragedy. His father had died when he turned fourteen. His mother, a year later, a year poorer. William had inherited the title, all СКАЧАТЬ