“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.”