The Strange Visitation at Wolffe Hall (Sherbrooke Brides 11.50)

“I told him about the voice coming to both me and Mama two times in dreams, and then Wednesday night it was shrieking those same words we can’t understand, heaving and shuddering the house, and it made the abyss in the entryway. He’s here to help—please let him.”

The Great shook his head and turned back to Grayson. “Listen, Mr. Sherbrooke, this is a family matter, at least I hope that it is.”

P.C. stepped forward. “Sir, if you would please think about consulting Mr. Straithmore. Please. I don’t want to leave you or Grandmama or Barnaby.”

Grayson said, “You could consider me an objective other, sir. It’s possible I could help you figure this out.”

The Great looked undecided. No, Grayson thought, it was more than that. He didn’t want to tell anyone because there was something he wanted to keep hidden. This was interesting.

The Great flicked a look toward Miranda and P.C. “I really do not wish them to leave. I mean, my sister, Clorinda, she is such a fussy old biddy, but still vigorous, I’ll give her that. I think it’s all the hair that’s growing out of her ears. Hair of that sort comes from a healthy brain, and that’s why she’s still vigorous.”

P.C. said, “But sir, you don’t have any hair in your ears.”

The Great frowned over that.

Pip said, “Perhaps it’s only true for ladies, sir.”

“Ah, what a smart little nit you are,” the Great said.

P.C. said, “Sir, if you promise to consider consulting with Mr. Straithmore, Mama and I will take Pip to her garden. We will keep a lookout for Bickle. Please, sir.”

The Great considered this, but Grayson saw that same expression, the desire to keep something hidden. Why? Did it embarrass him? But why? Or was it pride? The obvious fact that Grayson was a complete stranger?

It was then Grayson saw the huge basket filled to the brim with medals, scores of them. He’d thought P.C. was speaking only of the Great’s medals, but no. His medals were finely displayed behind glass on the wall. What were these medals in the basket? Grayson said, “My lord, I will accompany P.C. and Miranda to her garden, protect Pip, and return in say twenty minutes?”

The Great looked over to Pip, now holding Grayson’s hand. “Pip, when you next visit, I will show you something to make your hair as curly as mine.”

Pip took a step toward him. “Would it make me taller than my papa’s waist?”

“If we brush it straight up, you’ll be nearly to his armpit.”

Elaine called out as the four of them left the library, “Do not prick yourselves on the rose thorns. I will tell my papa-in-law all about Alphonse’s prized stallion, Cuspis. I read about him in an ancient history of our family.”

When they were out the front door, P.C. said to Grayson, “Sir, I think the Great is about ready to tell you what he knows about the voice.” She rubbed her hands together. “Do check your watch—we’ll time exactly twenty minutes before you go back.” She said to Pip, “Keep hold of my hand until we are in Mama’s garden. Even though it is fenced in, you still must pay attention and keep watch for Bickle—he well might be lurking about.” She sighed. “I’ve heard the Great reassure him endlessly that he will find him a fine post, but Bickle won’t be swayed. It is a pity the Great obviously likes you, Pip, that will bring Bickle, fast. Ah, here’s Barnaby. He can help guard you too.”

They came to a gated garden, large and surrounded with a lovely white wooden fence, freshly painted. Grayson watched Miranda Wolffe unlatch the gate and stand aside to let them all in. It was charming, well planned, and beautifully tended. Graveled pathways cut between sections of flowers, many of them beginning to bloom. In high summer, it would be stunning. There was a stone seat, an arbor overhead with jasmine twined through the slats.

“It’s lovely, Mrs. Wolffe.”

Miranda merely nodded and waved them toward the stone bench.

She stood in front of Grayson, her hands on her hips, her eyes going from him to her daughter. “He knows, which means you told him, which means you sneaked out of the house last night, didn’t you, P.C.?”

“Yes, Mama. I had to. Mr. Straithmore is here to help us.” She drew in a big breath and spit it out. “I told him everything.”

Miranda paused and turned to face Grayson, squinting to see his face in the bright sunlight. “And do you believe her, sir?”

“Yes, ma’am, I most certainly do.”

“That’s all well and good, but you are still a stranger despite the fact I feel like I know you since I read one of your novels. Sir, listen to me. Besides tending my garden, I read and I ponder and I consider things. I am smart and competent. However, the Great doesn’t believe a female person can do things to save the day, and thus I am at an impasse. I fear we must leave on the morrow, although I’m more afraid of what the night could bring. I must protect P.C.” She gave him a dispassionate look. “I have always resented the Great’s dismissal of my

brain. But for you, a man, he will doubtless come around and spill his secrets.”

“I know it must be galling, ma’am, but what’s important here, what you must keep your eye on, is getting him to tell us what is happening. If he will only speak to me, a man, well, so be it. You and P.C. and I will solve the problem once he tells me what it is.”

“Nicely said, sir. You are a great sopper.”

“Sopper?”