Book Excerpt
from Farnsworth Hall

Chapter 1

It was the third week into the trip. Rachel Coulter slid a frustrated look at her real estate broker. “This is a grueling itinerary, Harry. I don’t think we’re ever going to find a suitable castle to revamp into a resort spa.” Long hours on the bus and crabby castle owners were wearing on her nerves. Plus, Harry proved extremely moody at times.

The narrow roads made her nervous. The bus hit what must have been the thousandth pothole since they’d left Bath, England. Harriet Marsden resettled her glasses on her straight nose. “Surely we’ll find something suitable, Rachel. I won’t let you down.”

The surrounding English scenery had turned from quaint cottages with thatched roofs to eerie overgrown countryside. Rivulets of rain slapped against the bus windows. The poor visibility seemed to cast a heavy shadow on her determination. A quiet eeriness pervaded the bus. Rachel shivered. Maybe one of the ghosts from other castles on the tour decided to follow them.

Her stomach growled for the third time. Harry passed over the bag of nuts she was munching on.

An earsplitting explosion rocked the bus. Harry’s head slapped against a window. Rachel cringed and grabbed the armrest to keep from sliding off her seat. Her right shoulder banged into the seat in front of her. The bus swerved to a stop, tilting precariously. Luggage toppled. Bile rose in her throat. After a few stunned moments, Rachel dislodged herself from the tangle of coats and papers.

Harry lay deathly still. Her breathing was even and shallow. Rachel held her breath and gently rubbed Harry’s shoulder. No response. She felt Harry’s throat for a pulse. It was weak but there. Rachel checked her over from head to toe, but saw no blood. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God.

Frantic, she screamed, “Driver, help! Hey, you,” she shouted again when he didn’t respond. Oh my God, the driver must be hurt too.

Rachel struggled to her feet, head throbbing and muscles in her arm screaming in pain. She wiggled her fingers, and although the ache in her arm worsened, she was thankful she hadn’t broken any bones. It took a few seconds for her eyes to focus. She blinked and the haze began to clear.

She held onto the seats and stumbled over luggage strewn in the aisle to get to the front. The driver’s seat was empty.

Rachel staggered down the steps and grabbed the railing with her right hand. Excruciating pain shot through her shoulder. She let go and almost fell out of the bus.

A chill swept down her spine. She shivered and rubbed her arms to keep warm. As she looked around the bus, a heavy fog impeded her gaze.

She squinted trying to see through the mist. The driver was by the back of the bus waving his hands and slapping his head. Words Rachel would not repeat spew from his mouth.

“Driver,” Rachel yelled trying to get his attention.

He didn’t answer.

She stepped out into the mud, sloshed to the back of the bus and tapped the driver on the shoulder. He jerked causing her to slip. “Driver, are you all right?”

Without answering, he shrugged off her hand and turned back to the bus, continuing to shake his head while cursing rapidly.

She tried again. “Driver, Harry is unconscious. Can you call for help?”

It was as if she didn’t exist. What should I do? Then she remembered the list of emergency numbers Harry kept and rushed back through the bus. Throwing clothes aside, she felt under the seat for her phone. It wasn’t there. Desperate, she rummaged through Harry’s briefcase and found a phone. She dialed 911 and got a recording. Great, they were in a no service area! Disgusted, she threw it down.

After taking several deep cleansing breaths, the tension eased. She looked over at Harry slumped on the seat. She sighed and went out to see if the driver had settled down enough to be of any help. He sat on a rock, his head cradled in his hands.

Rachel put her hand on his shoulder and asked, “Is there a garage nearby?”

He raked his fingers through his sparse rain spattered hair and shook his head. “Probably about 50 kilometers to the nearest town. It’s late. Not likely anyone’s open.” He raised his hands toward the bus. “Look at this bus. The company will kill me.”

“It looks like its only a flat tire. We’ll get it fixed.” Rachel looked down the potholed road and searched for any sign of life. The gloom prevented her from seeing more than a few feet.

Rachel gasped as the shape of a man emerged from the mist, tall and menacing. His muscular upper torso reminded her of Trace, her old boss from New York.

“Anyone hurt?” the man called.

She couldn’t mistake that deep gravelly commanding voice. It was Trace! Her throat tightened. She backed up bumping into the bus, slipping down into a muddy puddle of drizzle. Her arm throbbed.

“Haven’t checked yet,” the driver snapped.

“Well it’s time you did, old man. Come on, let’s check the passengers,” Trace said.

“Only two passengers at the back of the bus,” the driver mumbled. “All the others stayed at the last stop.”

Trace stepped into the bus and switched off the motor. Abrupt silence followed.

Rachel heard what sounded like luggage being kicked about.

Trace shouted out a window, “Only one person back here, unconscious. Where’s the other one?”

“Don’t know.”

“Check the other side of the bus and see if the other one’s trapped.”

The driver stood but didn’t move. Rachel stepped from the front of the bus so he could see she was alive.

The driver frowned. “She’s out here.” He reached into the bus, grabbed a rag and pressed it to Rachel’s head, covering most of her face.

As she pulled the rag away, she saw fresh blood. Warmth spread down her body, spots danced before her eyes. She sat down and applied pressure.

Trace appeared at the door, looked down at her and nodded.

Another man appeared out of the mist. Older, head erect, formal. “Jarvis, glad to see you, old man. The passenger in here is unconscious.”

Jarvis climbed inside the bus followed by the driver. Soon they carried Harry out on a makeshift sling fashioned out of clothing and laid her on the ground. A pillow was taped around her head and neck. Still unconscious, she looked so pale.

“Madam, can you walk?” the older man asked in a brusque English accent.

Rachel stood up and nodded her bloody brown curls. A big mistake. She wavered and grabbed a nearby tree branch. After a few moments the dizziness faded. She looked up. “I’m coming.”

Trace and Jarvis lifted the sling and started to walk slowly careful not to jostle Harry any more than necessary. After starting and stopping several times to keep Rachel with them, Trace took hold of her hand and tucked it into his waistband.

“Hold onto my belt. Let me know when you need to stop.”

She stumbled after him thankful for contact with warm skin. Every few minutes he patted her hand. If he knew who he helped, he might not be so kind.

The driver slowly followed, stumbling every now and then.

Peeking around Trace, she saw the outline of a sizeable house halfway down the hill. One vague light shone through the mist. Leaves squished around her feet. Moisture seeped into her sensible walking shoes. Why hadn’t she listened to Harry? Those ugly galoshes would be welcome right now.

An owl hooted. Suddenly, a flurry of wings and eerie squawking sounds alerted her to danger. Birds, she hoped. If there were bats, she was going back to America as soon as she could get transportation. The stories of vampires at the last stop were enough to scare anyone.

After an interminable length of time, they turned down a narrow path. She stumbled over a broken gate. Her hand slipped from Trace’s waistband. He bent down and helped stable her. Then he turned and the two men disappeared into the house with Harry. The door closed.

Rachel took a deep breath, straightened, shoulders back and marched to the door. The structure reminded her of a cross between The Munster’s and The Addam’s Family mansion on television. Overgrown trees and vines nearly covered the entrance. She turned the knob, but the door did not budge. She pushed the doorbell, but there was no sound.

A light swirling mist appeared next to her and formed into a suspended ethereal woman. The hair on Rachel’s neck prickled. She blinked, a band of fear clutched at her neck taking her breath. She closed her eyes hoping the mist would disappear. I’m hallucinating. Too many stories of ghosts.

Calming, Rachel opened her eyes and gulped. The wraithlike image continued to float beside. After a few moments, a wavering appendage brushed outward toward a tarnished doorknocker. With trembling hands, Rachel took hold and banged several times, keeping the mist in her sight. When lights appeared in the window of the large wooden arched door, the apparition disappeared.

Rachel looked up as the door opened, shuddering. Candlelight flickered. “Come in, my dear, the dampness will cause a chill,” the old man who helped at the bus said in a deep, almost hypnotic voice.

She stepped up into the foyer. “I need to use a phone if possible. As you know, our bus broke down.”

He nodded in agreement. “Come in my dear and dry yourself. I’m sorry to say our telephone service is down as it the electricity. We expect it to return in the morning.

She looked around but didn’t see Trace or the driver. “Where did you put Harry?”

He ignored her question and glanced at her expetantly. “We do have rooms to rent.”

Candles dimly lit the entry hall. They had slept in castles with ghosts so this couldn’t be much worse. She rubbed her arms to ward off the chill. “Do you have heat?”

“There are fireplaces in each apartment. Our housekeeper will light the fires. How many will be required?”

The house looked deserted. What was she thinking? She had no choice. They had to stay here for at least the night. “Are there other boarders here?”

“A few others, but they shall not be a problem.”

Making the only decision she could, Rachel said, “We will need three rooms. As you know, one of the passengers was knocked unconscious.”

He nodded. “We offer breakfast at nine sharp each morning. The rooms are ready. Please follow the staircase. Hazel will be waiting.”

She removed her mud soaked shoes and looked up. A wooden staircase wound to the left and then to the right rising at least four stories.

“Jarvis, go for the doctor,” Trace’s voice demanded from somewhere above.

“Yes, your highness,” Jarvis called back. He bowed and turned away.

Rachel’s eyes widened. Your highness? Trace is royalty? Really? Was this where he disappeared to for months at a time?

As she mounted the stairs to the second floor, she noted the frayed carpet. Her head ached and she wanted to get the sticky blood out of her hair.

A diminutive elderly woman stood at the top of the stairs and pointed to the first room on the right. Rachel looked in and saw Harry already tucked in an overstuffed bed. The fireplace blazed. Rachel could hear her breathing. She would call the real estate office in London as soon as the phone was working. They needed to know about Harry’s condition.

“Can you bring me an ice pack for my friend?” Rachel asked feeling a knot on her own head developing. “Make that two, okay?” The woman nodded and curtsied stiffly. She pointed to rooms down the hall and limped away without speaking.

Rachel watched as the driver disappeared inside the next room without a word. So much for the bus company motto, ‘We will take care of you’.

The third room seemed the largest. Rachel entered and discovered another door off to the right. To her delight, the smaller room had a tiny bed. Probably a nursery at one time. She loved children. She wanted at least one of her own but hadn’t found a man she could trust yet. At one point, she thought Trace could be the one. He was taller than her with dark softly curling hair. He was good natured and was always nice to her. Best of all, he played with his son whenever he could. But in her opinion, his job took him away from home too much to be a really good family man.

A soft rustling noise came from the hall. Rachel looked out and saw the elderly woman opening Harry’s door. Rachel followed and found her standing beside Harry’s bed with an ice pack. After placing the ice pack on Harry’s wound, the woman covered her mouth and backed away. Rachel tensed and looked at Harry closely. Was she even breathing?

Rachel saw the swirling mist floating above Harry’s bed. She could feel the hair prickling on her neck.

Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. She let out a blood-curdling scream and the mist dissolved.

The elderly woman flinched.

Rachel rushed to the bed and patted Harry’s hand. “There now, you’re safe. You’ll be alright.” She took the ice pack from the woman and placed it on Harry’s head.

Harry’s smiled weakly. Rachel grinned back feeling safe for the first time since the accident. As Harry settled, Rachel said tentatively, “Hazel?” The woman nodded. “The rooms are acceptable. Thanks for the fires. Bathroom is…?”

Hazel pointed down the hall, wisps of white hair framing her impish face. She bowed her head and left.

After seeing that Harry was resting, Rachel used the antiquated facilities and mopped the coagulated blood from her hair. The cut on her forehead was jagged but not too deep and it would probably heal without stitches. As grimy and water logged as she was, she needed a good hot bath but that would have to wait until the morning. She was so tired. She grabbed a washcloth to stanch any further bleeding and staggered back to her room using the wall for balance, feeling near collapse. How much blood have I lost?

A lovely lavender scent wafted through the air growing stronger with each breath. The overstuffed antique bed looked so inviting. She took several deep breaths to clear her head. Harry. She should stay with Harry. Then she saw a tray with steaming tea and cookies on the table by the fire. After a few sips, she felt stronger.

She gathered the tea tray and tiptoed down the hall so not to wake the negligent driver or any of the other guests. Harry’s room was dim and she lay under the covers still as death. Rachel laid her hand on the covers and felt the rise and fall of Harry’s chest. Steady.

Rachel found an extra pillow and blanket in an ornately carved armoire. She spread them in front of the fire. Warmth emanated from the stone hearth. A vase of wild flowers and a picture of someone who looked like Uncle Greg, but from a different era sat on the right side of the marble mantle. She had a vague feeling a child was crying. Her eyelids heavy, she placed an ice bag on her forehead and laid her head carefully on the pillow. The misty lady appeared by the fireplace to watch over her as she closed her eyes. She was simply too tired to care.

Later, Rachel woke to voices in the room. A pencil thin man stood over her. “I’m Dr. Gibbon.” He looked at the cut on her forehead and shone a light in her eyes. “Please return to your room for an examination.”

Her head throbbed as Trace and Jarvis lifted her by the arms and escorted her to her room. Trace looked at her oddly. Did he remember her? Probably not. She wasn’t a significant woman in his life in New York, merely one of the long line of nannies for his child. She had never told him how much she cared for him.

After finishing with Harry, the doctor came to her. Medium height and graying, he was not over-powering. “My dear, let me see your head.” He gently removed the icepack matted with blood caked in her hair.

“Ouch,” she cried as the icepack was removed. She cringed as the warm sticky blood trickled down her right cheek.

“Gauze,” he said.

Hazel handed the gauze to him immediately and a bottle of some type of clear liquid without being asked. She smiled kindly at Rachel.

Six stitches later, Hazel cleaned the remaining tangle of blood from her hair, then set a bowl of steaming chicken soup at her bedside. Rachel’s stomach tightened and nostrils flared.

“Eat it all,” Dr. Gibbon said.

The doctor turned to Trace. “I’ll be back to check on these two tomorrow, if you wish, Your Grace.”

Trace nodded his head.

Rachel squinted. Had she heard right? She didn’t have time to think as Dr. Gibbon added, “You, young lady are to rest.” Exactly what she wanted to do, rest and hide from ‘Your Grace’.

Dr. Gibbons gathered his instruments and left.

As Trace left the room, he looked back at her a frown on his face. She averted her eyes. Would he throw her out in the morning?

* * *

Trace leaned back in his chair and turned from his desk to stare out into the pitch black night. Gracious! What was Rachel doing here? Hadn’t she caused him enough grief? The last time he’d seen her was when he came to her apartment in New York for help. His breathing was so bad she sent him to the hospital in an ambulance. He never saw her again. She’d abandoned him and his son, Dimitri. No goodbyes. Nothing.

Why hadn’t he told her of his feelings for her? He took her for granted leaving her with Dimitri for weeks on end. Never letting her know how valuable she was to him. She was the only nanny he could trust.

He missed her easy smile and carefree attitude. So many times he wanted to take her in his arms but he held back. His wife had disappeared when Dimitri was a baby and he couldn’t risk the pain of loving someone again. Better she left when she did.

Head in hands, he mumbled, “I’ll send her away as soon as I can.”