18, page 29
"Thatchgallows!" I laughed.
"Shhh! Yes. Born to be hanged, every man Jack of them--and Fanny, too. We shall have to prepare for their arrival. They'll try to harass you, of course, But don't worry. Every time one of them behaves odiously, you are to remind yourself that soon we will be handing them a reckoning."
He was not mistaken. Lord and Lady Bane brought their three interesting offspring to the Abbey not two weeks later. The servants had prepared for their visit by carefully removing the most treasured and fragile objects of the household from sight. From the moment they passed through the imposing entrance of the Abbey, our home was turned upside down. Henry and William, true to Lucien's prediction, made it their business to make me suffer. Henry was my own age, William a year younger, but they were both taller and stronger than I. All three children favored their father, Lord Alfred Bane, who was both brother-in-law and cousin to the earl. Lord Bane was a red-haired man whose countenance could easily be brought to match it in color. His softest whisper was nothing less than a shout--and he seldom whispered.
His sons were equally loud, and seemed never to stand still for a moment. They contrived to poke, pinch, trip, and jostle me at every opportunity. By the end of their second day among us, I was quite bruised, but did not doubt for a moment that Lucien would come to my aid. In his quiet way, he often did so, surprisingly able to control them as no one else seemed able--giving a quelling look to Henry or William that always made them back off until they chanced to find me apart from him.
When those opportunities arose, any feeble attempt on my part to defend myself caused them to set up a caterwauling that served as a siren call to Lady Sophia Bane. This fond mother relished coming to their aid, and invariably boxed my ears as she rang a peal over my head. On these occasions, my own mother, who knew better than any general how to retreat in good order, would announce that she felt a spasm coming on, and--clutching her vinaigrette to her bosom--excuse herself from the battleground.
Lady Bane complained constantly, perceiving faults everywhere: The food was not to her liking. The servants were never to be found when needed. The room in which she sat was too chilly--when the fires were made larger, she was too warm, and protested that the chimneys smoked. The rooms into which they had been installed were uncomfortable for this reason or that. "Not what we are accustomed to at Bane House!" was a refrain we soon wearied of hearing.
When she declared that their rooms were inconveniently located, my stepfather raised his brows. "But my dear Sophia! They are the very rooms you insisted upon after refusing the ones you had last year, when you thought I was trying to banish you to a far wing of the Abbey."
It made no difference. Lucien later told me that his father and aunt had been raised separately--the earl spent most of his childhood at the Abbey, with Lucien's grandfather. Lucien's grandmother--who disliked life in the country nearly as much as she disliked her husband--lived in Town, with her daughter, Sophia.
I was grateful for these insights. However, Fanny constantly spied on Lucien and me, so we had little opportunity for private speech such as this. After several months of being almost constantly in his company, being unable to share confidences with Lucien made me experience a loneliness that surprised me. But then one evening, just as I was feeling quite sure this would be my most miserable Christmas ever, Lucien winked and smiled at me.
We had been engaged in playing Jackstraws, but Fanny's governess, who had been overseeing our activities that evening, called the proceedings to a halt--perceiving, I suppose, that this was not the sort of game the Banes could play without violence. As she moved across the room to put the game away, Lucien turned to me and said, "Do you suppose the ghost will walk tonight?"
"What ghost?" the Banes said loudly and in unison.
"The Headless Abbot, of course," he replied.
Fanny's eyes grew round.
"What nonsense is this?" asked the governess, but with an air of interest.
"Long, long ago," Lucien said, casting his spell over us, "a castle was built here--its ruins form part of the north tower. But the castle itself was built over ruins--ruins of an even older abbey, which is how our home came to be named.
"In the days when the Abbey was truly an abbey, a war broke out between two powerful lords. One winter's night, not long before Christmas, the abbey came under attack, which was a shocking thing, because this was then considered a holy place, with relics and the like. Knights in armor rode their horses into the chapel, where the abbot was leading the evening prayer, and the captain of these rogues took out his broadsword and swoosh!" He made a slicing motion with his hand.
All three Banes and the governess gasped--and I believe I did, too, for though I had heard this tale before, never had Lucien related it in such a dramatic manner.
"Yes," Lucien said darkly, "he beheaded the holy man where he stood, and his knights murdered all the other monks--defenseless men at their prayers."
This earned another gasp.
"But why would they do such a thing!" the governess said.
Lucien seemed to hesitate to answer, his manner that of one who was deciding whether or not he should impart a great secret. "The attackers," he finally said, "had heard a legend, a tale of a treasure kept in the abbey. It probably wasn't true, for although they examined every cupboard and cabinet, and pulled at loose stones and tiles, and looked in every room and hall for its hiding place, they could not find the treasure." He paused, then said, "The powerful lord to whom the knight had sworn his loyalty sent a messenger to the captain, saying that he needed his warriors, and so they must make all haste to the battlefield. The greedy captain pretended to have an illness, and sent all but a small number of knights to join their lord in battle, while he remained to continue his search at the abbey."
He lowered his voice. "But during the night, on the very first evening this small company stayed in the abbey, the men who stood guard were startled to see a strange sight--a man, wearing a monk's robes, his face hidden by its cowl, seemed to appear out of nowhere. Unlike the brown-robed monks they had slaughtered so mercilessly, this one was dressed all in white, save a splash of red on his chest. 'Who goes there?' cried one of the knights. The figure in white halted, and lowered his cowl. With horror, the knights saw that the apparition had no head."
"The abbot!" William said breathlessly.
"Yes," Lucien said. "The guards screamed in terror, awakening the others. The knights were frightened, but their captain tried to brazen it out. 'Show us your treasure!' he shouted. And the abbott began to lead the way. The captain called to his five bravest men, and they followed the monk into a secret passage. The others were too frightened to go near him, and waited."
Again, Lucien paused.
"Yes, yes! Then what happened?" Henry insisted.
Lucien smiled. "They were never seen again!"
There was a suitably awed silence, then William said, "But the treasure! What happened to the treasure?"
"It was never found. Accidents befell any who tried to discover it--especially those who ventured near the old sanctuary. Eventually, this land was given to one of our ancestors. He had the portion of the Abbey that had been the sanctuary sealed off, and built his castle over it. But the local people will tell you that the Headless Abbot still walks on winter nights. Some say they've heard the sound of hoofbeats coming from the part of the Abbey which lies nearest the sanctuary--the ghostly horses of the accursed knights."
"Which part of this old pile is that?" Henry asked, trying for nonchalance.
Lucien appeared to reflect, then answered, "Why, I believe it is very near to your rooms."
All Henry's bravado disappeared. "Mother!" he screamed, running from the room. Fanny burst into tears and soon followed him. William hurriedly escaped on her heels.
"My word!" the governess said, rather pale, although perhaps she feared her employer's displeasure more than headless monks, for she hastened after her charges.
"My compliments," said Lucien calmly. "You appeared suitably frightened. If you continue to play your part so well, my dear Edward, I believe we can have them on their way by first light."
I decided not to admit that I was genuinely frightened, but I think he knew in any case, for the delightful prospect of the Bane's departure made me smile, and when he saw it, he said, "That's the barber! They've been beastly nuisances to me, but worse to you, poor boy." He looked closely at my face, which had served as a target for Henry's fists a little earlier in the day. "Daresay you'll have a mouse under your right eye. Was it Henry who tried to darken your daylights?"
I nodded, fairly certain that Henry had indeed given me a black eye.
"Nasty fellow, Henry. I'll have to think of some special treat for him. But never mind that--you've got more bottom than the lot of them. Game as a pebble, you are!"
Such praise, delivered for the most part in cant expressions he had learned from one of the grooms, delighted me so much, he had to remind me to appear to be frightened.
"We must be prepared, for my father will be demanding an explanation of us soon, I'm sure."
The thought of being called before the earl was enough to restore my pallor.
"Excellent," Lucien said, his smile broadening when Fibbens appeared at the door.
"If your lordship and Master Edward would be so good as to come with me?" the young footman said, his face revealing nothing. "Your lordship's father asks that you join the other members of the family in the drawing room."
"To receive a rare trimming from my Aunt Sophia?" Lucien asked.
There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Fibbens's mouth before he answered, "I'm sure I could not say, your lordship."
As we approached the drawing room, Lucien whispered to me, "It is absolutely essential, dear Edward, that you stand as close to my father as possible."
These were daunting instructions indeed. Summoning all my courage, I did as he asked, making my way to the earl's side even as Lady Bane began to deliver herself of what promised to be a lengthy speech on the lack of manners of certain members of the younger generation. Henry, William, and Fanny, hardly exemplars of etiquette, eyed us with smug satisfaction.
"Never mind that, Sophia!" Lord Bane interrupted, loud enough to cause my mother to shrink back against the cushions of the sofa she occupied, but silencing--however briefly--his own wife.
No sooner had I taken up my position near the earl's chair than he stood, picking up a decanter and walking toward Lord Bane, as though none of the havoc in the room was actually taking place. I looked to Lucien, who subtly signaled me to stay where I was.
"Lucien," the earl said quietly, as he finished refilling Lord Bane's glass, "I don't suppose you would mind troubling yourself to give me a brief summary of the events of this evening? I am particularly interested in those which caused your cousins to fly to their mama and hold to her skirts."
Lord Bane laughed at this, even as his wife protested. As my stepfather walked back toward me, he paused, and seemed to study me for a moment before refilling his own glass and returning the decanter to the drinks tray. "Edward," he said, in the gentlest voice I had yet heard him use, "come stand here with me by the fire. My sister tells me all our chimneys smoke, but I fear I'll need to feel some warmth while Lucien recites his chilling tale."
So we moved nearer the fireplace, with its holly-draped mantel. The warmth of the fire felt good, and so did some nearly imperceptible change in my stepfather's manner toward me. Lucien began his tale, but the earl kept his eyes on me.
"As you have so often told us, Aunt Sophia," Lucien said, "you are a woman who is accustomed to finer treatment than we may afford you here at the Abbey, in part because you consider London your home, and were not often here as a child. That being so, I do not imagine the tale of the Headless Abbot has come to your ears."
"I should say not!"
Lucien turned to his father. "I thought it only fair to warn my dear cousins about him, sir."
"Your dear cousins," the earl repeated. "Just so."
Lucien again recounted the legend, this telling no less unnerving than the previous one. My mother had recourse to her vinaigrette no fewer than five times, but was an avid listener.
"Poppycock!" Lord Bane declared. "Fairy tales."
"I used to think so," Lucien said. "But if it's just a fairy tale, there ought to be a good earl in it. But there isn't, you see."
"A good earl?" his father asked, looking sharply at him.
"Yes, Father. The abbey should have been protected by a good man, someone who cared about the defenseless men who lived there. He would not have let the ruffians who descended on the abbey have their way."
"Perhaps he was otherwise occupied," the earl said.
Lucien shrugged. "Perhaps he did not see his duty."
The earl raised a brow. "Perhaps he was taking a switch to the backside of his impertinent son."
Lucien gave a little bow. "I trust in your wisdom, sir. You must have the right of it."
"Doing it much too brown, Lucien!" the earl said, but there was a twinkle in his eye, which did not abate, even as his sister upbraided him for using such terms.
"And why you talk of earls, which has nothing to do with the case, I'm sure I don't know!" Lady Bane protested. "You seem to forget, dear brother, that Lucien has frightened poor Fanny and her brothers half-to-death!"
"I beg your pardon, Aunt Sophia," Lucien said, when she paused to draw breath, "if I've caused you or my cousins any fright. But I do think the experience of seeing the ghost or hearing the hoofbeats is much less frightening if one is prepared. Imagine the shock one might feel, if he were to see a bloodstained, headless apparition floating outside his window at midnight, if he didn't know the legend."
"Nonsense!" Lady Bane declared. "We've spent Christmas here these past three years and more. Why have we never heard this legend before now?"
"If I may offer an explanation, Aunt Sophia?" Lucien said. "There is only one section of the Abbey which is haunted--beneath the chambers you occupy. No one is ever disturbed in any other part of the house, so we did not wish to frighten you with the tale. But since you wished to have the rooms nearest the north tower--"
"Oh! So this is my fault is it? Well, I'll tell you why we are just now hearing of your ghost, my good fellow! Because some who've never been here before this year have invented tales. Outsiders!" She rounded on me, pointing. "It's you!"
She received a chorus of approval from her offspring. I quailed before them, but then I felt the earl's large hand on my shoulder. I winced a bit as he touched a bruise, and his hand shifted slightly. At that moment, I became aware that the room had fallen silent. Everyone was looking at the earl, whose face was a mask of cold fury.
"Are you assuming that my wife's son has no place in our family?" he asked, icily. "I assure you, Sophia, he is not an outsider here. Lucien thinks of Edward as his brother, and I think of him as my son. Indeed, there are blood relations I would much liefer disown--and may."
I could hardly believe my own ears, which were soon assaulted.
"No offense meant!" Lord Bane shouted.
He had spoken loudly enough, I was sure, to startle the villagers (including the deaf vicar) from their beds, several miles away. The earl, however, appeared not to have heard him. "Perhaps, Sophia, you would find Christmas in Town more to your liking."
"La!" she said nervously, "how you do take one up! Bane is right--I meant no offense. Lucien's lurid tale has quite overset me!"
With that, she snapped at her children, telling them it was long past time for them to be abed, remonstrated with the governess for not having seen to it, and said, "Bane!" in a commanding tone that had her husband soon bidding all a good night.
"You, too, should be in bed, Edward," my mother said.
"Time we all were," my stepfather said. "Go on up, if you like, my dear. I'd like a brief word with the boys before I retire for the evening."
As soon as she had left, the earl turned to Lucien, and said in a lazy voice, "I trust we have yet to see Act III of your little drama?" Despite his tone, I could see the amusement in his eyes, and for the first time, I perceived a likeness between the earl and his son that went beyond Lucien's physical resemblance to his father.
"Tomorrow evening, sir. Tonight would be too soon. They are Banes, and being such, need time to think."
"You frighten me--far more than your telling of the legend did--though I credit you with an admirable performance."
Lucien bowed again, and said, "I had an excellent teacher."
The earl gave a sudden shout of laughter, then said, "Impossible boy!"
"Again, sir--"
"No, don't say I taught you to be such an impudent hellion, for I'll swear I did not!"
"Then I shall say nothing, sir--except--except--thank you, sir!"
The earl raised a hand in protest. "'Tis the other way 'round, I believe." He turned back to me and gently lifted my chin. "I see I have been remiss in your education, Edward. Or perhaps--yes--Lucien, you must teach your brother to be handy with his fives." He paused, then added, "Lady Rolingbroke need not be apprised of it."
"Thank you, sir!" I said.
"Oh, I demand a high price! If you fail to rid me of the Banes, you and that makebait Lucien will be served gruel for Christmas dinner--by whatever headless monk I can find to take it to the dungeon!"
We were destined to eat a sumptuous feast. Before Lucien and I sought our beds, he enlisted my aid in creating a few hoofbeats along the secret passages near each of the Bane's bedchambers. Henry had awakened to feel a ghostly presence in the form of a room that was suddenly terribly cold, not knowing that Lucien had merely left the entrance to one of the draftiest passages open for a time.
We left it at that. The next morning, of course, we denied hearing anything like hoofbeats. When Henry swore he had felt the ghost, and not even the other members of his family related similar tales, Lucien grew thoughtful, saying, "I wonder why he would single you out?"
This made Henry go very pale, and ask again if no one else had felt a bit chilly last night.
