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Chapter Five
The first thinghe noticed was that it was colder. It would be the sort of day in which everyone should be indoors before a fire. The grass crunched with frost and his breath puffed white. It had taken a little longer than expected for them to make it out and yet the sun was barely up.
Charles did not see the need for this kind of enthusiasm.
But Nigel, who had chivvied him along, trotted at his side like an enthused puppy.
He wondered, not for the first time since undertaking this journey, why he was so ready to come with him. Although they had shared much, there was no need for Nigel to overextend himself simply to accompany him to an old house that likely held nothing but mice and dusty possessions.
“I’m amazed you are awake.”
“Is this not thrilling?”
“Depends on your definition of thrilling,” said Charles.
“A supposedly haunted house, your father going years without contacting you or our mother… this is shaping up to be quite a mystery.”
He’d forgotten about Nigel’s love for fiction. It was a rather rare thing in boys, but perhaps not unheard of. He, Mother, and Mr. Maclean had supposed Nigel would grow out of it in time.
Nigel hadn’t. He had a large appetite for the theater, novels, and even ballads. As such, although he viewed ghosts as the stuff of fairy stories, Nigelwaswell-positioned to be interested in these odd circumstances.
Uneasy, Charles reflected thatheactually would rather none of this had happened at all, so that he was still at home listening to Mr. Clements instruct one of the new lads on proper comportment around a duke. Lord Valencourt did not expect immense formalities, but Clements prided himself on how everyone behaved.
They had arrived at the gate just as Charles was wishing for a hot cup of tea. Nigel stopped both of them and peered at the old thing.
“I believe we’d best just climb the fence,” said Charles.
Two grown men clambering over the high iron posts was bound to look ridiculous, especially as they were each fully—though not formally—dressed. But he preferred looking foolish to using force to break the lock. Besides, with the weather being so starkly cold, metal was liable to go flying everywhere if one of them tried to strike it. It was not glass and would not shatter, but there could be debris, chips that might cut skin.
Nodding, Nigel said, “You’re lucky I’m spry.”
“Lucky? You are the one who insisted we come here.”
“I have always felt bad for you.”
“Pardon?”
Nigel shrugged. “I have always known both my mother and father. There have been times when I wish Father was kinder, or more demonstrative, but… he is still my father. I love him, and I know he loves me. You have never had that satisfaction. I am sorry for it.”
They both knew that Mr. Maclean did not love Charles. He’d looked after him, he’d done all that was required of a legal guardian.
On balance, Charles could not fault him.
“You needn’t feel responsible.”
“I don’t. I know it is not my fault. But I wish you could have known what that was like.”
Gone quiet, Charles mulled it over. He had not rebelled because of his lack of a father. He hadn’t left his mother and the comfort they had because hehatedMr. Maclean. No, he had done it because he felt different. Alien and foreign even compared to his mother, who’d seemed to acclimate to a new life better than he could, and Nigel, who was more personable and likable than he seemed to be.
Mother never really spoke of his father, either. He always assumed that it was because the match had nothing to do with love, and perhaps he’d been conceived by force. If she did not wish to speak of it, he would not press her. He did sometimes wonder why she’d not given him the surname Maclean.
He put all of this from his mind. “Thank you. I have to say that I do not know what I missed, and… it’s not something I tend to think about.”
But he had as a child. He had not necessarily wanted the love of his father as such, or of Mr. Maclean. He’d still wondered what sort of father he would be if he had his own children. He was not old, now, and supposed he could still have them—at two and thirty, he was hardly past his prime. Therewasthe matter of his looks, which were often considered too dark to be attractive. They had to have originated from his father, for his mother was pale with gray eyes.
Well,he thought,maybe a small consolation will be the funds you gain from selling off this place.
With a few misgivings, he allowed himself to consider the thought of having money to save. He did not even know where to start going about any kind of property sale.
Mr. Clyde, Lord Valencourt’s steward, might help him. They were on friendly terms.
“If you were never given the chance, it’s little wonder,” said Nigel. He looked at Charles in the weak light. “Well, shall I go first, or do you wish to catch me on the other side?”
Charles grinned. “I should. You could never catch me. I would crush you.”
Nigel, whowasmore slight, grinned back at him. “Wonderful point. On you go, then.”
In a trice, Charles was on the other side. He listened to Nigel clamber over the fence, then drop to the ground.
His eyes were too busy taking in Ullinn House from the owner’s side of the fence. From here, he was starting to see that the place once must have possessed some charm.
