“Speaking my mind?”
“Not exactly. You behaved like a lady,” he explained. “Others have not been so gracious, and they can’t resist sending a barb his way. They think Elliot doesn’t notice, but he does.” His eyes flickered with frustration.
Camellia was touched by his unexpected concern. “I am sorry to hear that, though I can’t pretend to be surprised. Too often, cruelty is rewarded where kindness is not. I often wish life were more fair than it is.”
“Life is most certainly not fair,” he noted, and the insolence, the aloofness was back. It was as if he’d put a mask on, shutting her out. The act only made Camellia curious. Exactly what sort of person was he?
Dinner progressed, and the conversation spun on. Mr Ryder proved to be a sly and funny conversationalist, and she found herself smiling at him more than once. Camellia tried to keep to safe topics, but she often felt that Mr Ryder heard much more than she actually said. He was observant.
When Hortense announced to the table that she intended to tell a ghost story after dinner, Lia shivered.
“Afraid of ghosts, Miss Swift?” he asked in a low voice.
“Certainly not,” she said stiffly. “Ghosts are for children.”
For some reason, he smiled. Not his usual mocking grin, but an almost wistful expression. “Yes, I suppose they are. Children can see them better.”
“I hope I never see one…” again. She almost said the last part out loud, and for a moment she thought Mr Ryder heard the word.
With every appearance of sincerity, he said, “Should a ghost appear, Miss Swift, it will have to deal with me before it can get to you.”
Lia’s heart leaped at the comment. It was nonsensical, but it was…romantic.
She took a breath and managed to whisper, “I hope it shall not come to that.”
After the meal, the ladies went through to the parlor, while the men lingered for a smoke and postprandial drink.
But Hortense had made her will known, and soon enough the whole party was gathered again in the parlor, sitting or standing in a semicircle around the massive fireplace, where flames licked hungrily at seasoned oak and apple, giving a sweet, smoky smell to the room.
“As I said over dinner, it is well known that spirits walk during the long, dark nights before Christmas Day,” Hortense began.
“Careful, Miss Fitzgerald,” one guest warned. “The vicar will be calling you a heathen!”
“The vicar is the one who told me about it!” Hortense replied, dimples showing in her cheeks. “Anyway, I think it a fine tradition to tell ghost stories by the fire, and Wyemont Castle has real ghosts in residence!”
“What story will you tell?” Camellia asked, feeling suddenly nervous.
“One of my favorites. The tale of the Lady in the Tower, better known now as the Welsh Ghost!”
Chapter 7
At Hortense’s words, Camellia instinctively looked back at Phineas, and blushed to see him watching her with his steady gaze. But then he offered her a quick smile, and her heart fluttered.
Hortense began her tale, saying, “Long ago, when the Normans marched over this land, they built castles and strongholds wherever they could, so as to hold their advantage over the Saxons. And here in Herefordshire, the Welsh made things even more complicated. There had long been a keep on the hill, where the Saxons watched for raiders. But the Normans were the ones to build the high tower still standing here today.
“When the tower was new, the keep was in the charge of a local warlord who owed fealty to William the Conqueror himself. He was a man known to be harsh, but just, always looking to the laws of God and men for guidance. One day, in high summer, a young woman—barely more than a girl—came to the gates of the keep and begged an audience with the lord. He saw she was Welsh, but also very beautiful, with long black hair and bright, proud eyes. He asked why she had come to him, a Norman lord, for aid.
“She replied that she needed his protection. She was desperate. She said her father had promised her in marriage to another local lord without her consent or knowledge. This man was three decades her senior, and had a terrible reputation for cruelty. The girl’s father hoped to curry favor with the tyrant, offering his beautiful daughter as a sort of bribe for future leniency. The girl heard about the deal and fled her home, hoping to find a place to hide. Her priest told her he could not protect her. He was a weak man, and he feared the wrath of these earthly lords. So she then fled to the keep itself, to beg protection from the greatest lord in the area.
“Now, the great lord looked at the fair maiden, and his heart was deeply moved. She was a lovely creature, and he thought the girl might even be persuaded to marry him, though he was also much older than she.
“But it was not to be. She explained the worst part of her tale: she had already pledged her troth to another. This young man—a kind but poor Welshman—was her beloved from childhood. They had secretly planned to marry a month hence. She begged the great lord to keep her safe until her beloved could come and marry her.
“The great lord saw the beauty’s heart was taken, and he felt a certain coldness creep into his own. He looked at her, and said, ‘You tell me you have made a secret bargain with a young man, without either family’s approval. Yet you ask for protection from your father and your rightfully pledged husband! What should I do, as the lord charged to keep the peace in this county? Should I tell a father he should obey his young daughter’s fickle heart, rather than his own conscience? Should I ignore the law to indulge a pretty face? What will the countryside think of me, if I do not follow the law in all cases?’
“The girl saw his heart was stone, and she begged him to reconsider. He refused, and then betrayed her simple trust even further. He ordered his soldiers to seize her and put her in the top of the new tower, to be held prisoner until her father should come claim her. She screamed in rage and fear, but she was no match for armed guards. They carried her to the high tower room and locked her in.
“The great lord sent word to her father to come fetch his willful girl. The young lady cried bitter tears at her fate, and the cruelty of powerful men, who knew nothing of young love. Despairing, the young lady begged her guards to let her speak to the lord once more, to plead her case. The lord finally came to the tower room one morning. She begged him for mercy, but he was high and haughty with her. He told her she was a fool for falling in love with a poor man, and wicked for disobeying her father. The young lady had no more tears then, but she warned the lord he would pay a price for his lack of mercy. He merely laughed, asking what a poor girl like her could do to a great lord like him?
