~ Moonrakers ~

by

Eleanor Sullo

The clatter of a carriage destroyed the fog-stilled quiet like a thunderclap. Under the rain-soaked rhododendrons, Olivia deBaine dropped her spade and clambered up just as the driver cried out and horses whinnied, badly spooked. Through the mist she strained to watch the elegant figure leap from the carriage, white scarf fluttering at his neck. Relief caught in her throat.

Thank God, he’s come--help is here at last.

The stranger scooped up his tossed bags as Olivia hurried forward, opening her mouth to speak, surprised that nothing came out. How capable and in control he seemed. A tall, fine figure, with strong, brooding looks and a thick shock of coal black hair skimming his neck.

Though why she should notice such frivolous details when it was her father’s safety that beset her she had no idea.

As she continued toward him, her steps more measured now, she watched his gaze survey Chambercombe Manor. His strong, straight slash of a mouth drooped and he stumbled backward. Did he find her family home so distasteful, crouched low and cheerless, a pale and crumbling island in the towering wood and rising mists? She saw his head jerk up toward an upstairs window. His startled words carried on the fog.

"Bloody ghost house it well may be!"

Behind her the boy digging in the dirt guffawed and the maid shushed him. Olivia moved briskly toward the grim figure. His head jerked toward her. The look of disapproval on his face made her shiver. She swiped her soiled fingers on her dress as she covered the last ten yards of soggy lawn and held out her hand.

A soft growl escaped his throat. But when his eyes met hers his look softened, took her in, and, somehow, wouldn’t let go. She barely breathed.

"Doctor Pell? I’m glad you’ve arrived safely. Please pardon my, uh--I collect herbs for healing remedies." Her glance dropped from his commanding deep blue eyes and she felt a warm flush cover her, despite the dankness of the day.

For a moment he ignored her outstretched hand, then reached forward and snatched it, even as he leaned his tall form backward. He glowered at her tiger cat winding himself around his ankles.

"I’ll need to see Sir William deBaine," he said, staring at the grit in his palm from her touch and shaking a leg to send the feline off.

Olivia straightened. "He’s not at home but I welcome you in his place. We’ll get your bags in and get you started."

"Can’t the boy--?"

"Sorry, Doctor. At least, I assume you are the learned gentleman from the Society for Psychical Research?"

He gave a cursory nod.

"Good. Then you and I shall manage. We have little staff and the lad is busy at something more--important."

As she moved around him to grasp his largest valise, the man huffed.

"More important?" He spoke through clenched teeth. "I was told there was a certain urgency. Did I miss Professor Sidgwick’s seminar for nothing? See here. Where is your mistress? I’ll see Miss deBaine at once."

How funny he was, with his air of self importance. Yet his steely eyes flashed something else, too, a command of every situation despite that jot of vulnerability and humor that made Olivia want to grasp his hands and warm them.

"It is I who sent for you to save my father’s life. I am Olivia deBaine."

"But I thought--"

She reached for a valise and he gave up the smallest one to her, grabbed the others and followed through the damp grass. At the entrance he paused to study the building’s façade, and she waited patiently.

"Welcome to our haunted home, Doctor."

"Hmph. We’ll see…"

"As I wrote you, there have been tales of unusual wailing sounds in and around Chambercombe for hundreds of years. I’ve heard them all my life, although they always seemed friendly until now." A shudder ran through her.

His eyes narrowed. "We’ll consider all relevant facts, of course. The building is Norman, I suppose."

"Exactly. A queen of England once lived here." She nudged the door open with the toe of her boot. "Jane Grey, who, as you know, did not enjoy a lengthy reign."

"The lady’s spirit haunts the Tower of London. Documented, they say. I doubt she’s here, too--" He followed Olivia in, ducking his head to avoid the low lintels.

Once inside she shrugged. "I’ve never claimed to know who haunts us. I shall leave that discovery to you." She set down his small bags and snatched up the tiger cat just as Doctor Pell straightened, a moment too soon, and whacked his head on a beam. Fortunately his high hat took the brunt of the blow.

She couldn’t help but giggle. "Sorry, Albert Reynolds always goes away with a bump."

He doffed his hat and rubbed his head, giving a sideways glance that chilled her bones--a look of irritation and woundedness, all at once. "Your suitor?"

Without answering she led him into the great room, where the dinnertime fire had been allowed to smolder.

"I’ll show you ‘round." She stepped aside as he came close to warm himself on the glowing ashes.

"I’ll need some settling in, first. It’s been a rough and wooly ride from Bristol with all this rain."

Before she could respond his glance appraised her from head to toe. Quickly he looked away as if embarrassed. She blushed, but bridled. Ha! she thought, no doubt he sees me as an ox, less fine and dainty than the ladies in London society. Too bad. I’m a country girl and glad for my strength and size.

She lifted her chin and cut him a cool glance.

"We’ve only a few hours of daylight left, Doctor, so please make your settling in brief. You’ll need a tour of the property to orient yourself. We’ll have an early tea before setting out."

He rubbed his back and continued to peruse her person in repeated glances, although his own face had begun to color.

Olivia bit her lip, feeling exposed, wondering if he were undressing her with those keen eyes!

"The walk will do you good."

"I think not. When your father returns I’ll interview him. Then, tomorrow perhaps, you can show me the property, introduce me to others who--"

A stab of anxiety cut through her chest and she straightened, trying not to stare at his teeth, so white they reminded her of sun-bleached shells. "We must begin at once. My father is gone on business so I know he is safe tonight. But already there have been two attacks on his life here!"

"Your letter explained all that, and the accidental death of your brother and the crippling of your mother following his loss. I realize the nature of the crisis--"

"If Christian’s death was an accident--"

"--but, you see, there is a system, a procedure, by which an investigation proceeds. I am schooled not only within the Society for Psychical Research, but in the methods of Scotland Yard--the science of detection. My work is first to seek evidence of a more human perpetrator."

The deep timbre of his voice, the sharp angles of his face modeling a perfect mask of control and the commanding way he rubbed his long, fine hands together at the fire seduced her. She felt her resolve weakening. But then she thought of the cries that haunted her nights and of her father lying in a pool of his own blood… She shivered, she would trust no one. Nor wait until the cruel spirit struck again.

Without intending to she stamped her foot, turned and clicked her way down the hall to the stairs.

"I understand the reputation of the Society to be flawless, and your methods without equal," she called back at him as she went. "Which is why I contacted you, above all the others who work with Dr. Sidgwick. They say you’re the most uncanny of investigators, sure to find a spirit if there is one."

"And so I shall if one exists, Miss deBaine, in due time." He hovered just behind her, his breath on her neck sending scintillas of sensation to her fingertips.

She straightened and pointed up the stairs, determination rising like heat in her throat. "This is due time, Doctor Pell! Due time enough. Your room is to the left of the stairway. Please settle yourself. And understand my urgency, sir. My father’s life is at risk! I trust you will begin your work at once."

"Do you? Trust me, that is?"

She laughed a bitter laugh. "Perhaps that trust must be earned, sir. Meanwhile, I believe that while you are at Chambercombe you are in our employ."

His gasp told her no other woman had ever talked as bluntly to this paragon of masculine bravado and good looks. Olivia sniffed and turned away before she might cave in to his lifted chin and furrowed brow. Her knees shook.

Why did he affect her so?

"As your employer," she snapped over her shoulder, as she retreated back down the hall, "it is reasonable that I supervise your efforts. Without the knowledge and information I can provide, your time here is worthless. Please be prepared for your tour after tea, and bring your cape. There could be more rain." She glanced at the grandfather clock. "We’ve wasted enough time. Tea in thirty minutes."

She heard him blustering behind her all the way to the entry, but she dared not pause for his retort. There was more Iceland Moss to gather, a patient to treat, and the butterflies in her stomach to settle before she could face the irresistible doctor for that risky walk in the woods!