“Did you have other guests sequestered out of sight?” asked Ann. “Perhaps your servants are up to mischief. I’m sure I heard a cry, almost a scream. Then such noises like banging or clapping. Most peculiar.”
Much to Alice’s relief, Ann finally ceased her rambling guesses. Alice turned to look at Edmund. He had his lips firmly shut and she willed him to find an answer to Ann’s curiosity. Scrambling through possible explanations, she fell upon an idea.
“Oh
, Ann, did we not warn you?” said Alice with feinted shock.
“Warn me?” said Ann nervously, glancing over her shoulder at the footman.
“How foolish of me,” said Ann, formulating her idea into words. “I must confess I didn’t believe Edmund when he told me, did I?” She directed her remark to her ignorant husband, who merely shrugged as if to agree.
“Believe what?” said Ann dropping her spoon on the plate with a clatter. She leant across the table.
“There is supposedly a spirit about Westfell Hall,” said Alice in hushed tones. “A phantom.”
“A ghost!” said Ann alarmed, springing back in her seat and staring about the room as if it would leap out of the walls at her.
“As I say I haven’t heard her myself. You were most unfortunate to have your sleep disturbed by her. The servants tell me it is rare. We heard nothing, did we, Colonel? Fast taken by exhaustion.”
“Indeed,” said Edmund non-committedly.
Ann regained her composure and once again eagerly perched on edge of her seat. “What manner of ghost? Do tell.”
“Why, some mad woman who does scream, so I am told, and bang most noisily, as if she is trying to escape or perhaps move furniture. Perhaps you could give us an idea, since you heard her so clearly?” risked Alice.
Edmund’s eyebrows raised at her last sentence.
“Oh, I am not sure. The sounds were at a distance and muffled.” Ann pursed her lips and broke out into a beaming grin. “Wait until I tell Lucy and Philippa that you reside in a haunted house.”
“We would rather you did not,” interjected Edmund quickly. “We do not want callers expecting a tour. The house is restful and a pleasant abode. There is no proof to the conjecture this place is haunted. Perhaps it was the servants you heard?”
“Maybe,” said Ann, fingering her plate. “Naturally, I shall keep quiet. It is of no great consequence. What an exciting place you do live in, Alice.”
“Yes, it is. Most exciting,” agreed Alice. What little did her friend know about her life with Edmund.
Ann left shortly after breakfast. Alice immediately pined for her company, but when Edmund suggested he take her out in his phaeton carriage for a ride, she cheered up. Cracking his whip, they set off at a pace along one of the paths that led to the lake.
“Did I do wrong with my ghost story?” Alice asked.
Edmund held the reins tight in his fist as the horses became lively. “Wrong?” he repeated. “No, dearest. Your quick thinking impresses me. Although, perhaps the explanation was a little elaborate. However, it is a matter we need address. We cannot have the servants or any guests making a discovery as to what we do in private.”
“Is what we do so wrong?” The thought troubled her. After all, her parents never seemed to make much noise about the house, neither in arguments nor in romantic interludes.
“Wrong. This is a word you seem taken with this morning. Not to you, or me, but that does not make it suitable matter to speak upon in any company. You blushed at the mere thought of it at breakfast. In public, we will be the epitome of a proper husband and wife. In my bedroom, I am your master, Alice. Do you understand?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.” She clasped her hands to her heaving bosom.
Edmund halted the carriage and turned to face his wife. “You will be dutiful, wait upon me, have no fear in your nudity or desires, and be most compliant to my wishes. You have nothing to fear as long as we keep this secret.”
The multitude of butterflies returned to Alice’s belly. She dreaded they might take flight and spring forth uncontrollably. Hearing his words, his expectations in the bedchamber, filled her with longing and trepidation, but no fear. Gazing into her husband’s grey eyes, watching the breeze toss about his chestnut locks, she smiled at him.
“I am yours, sir.”
Chapter Nine
“In my opinion, there is no reason to legislate any new labour laws. We mill owners should be left to deal with such matters ourselves,” boomed Mr Huddlestone across the dining table.
“Indeed, indeed,” chanted the parson, Mr Melrose.