Page 35 of A Ghost of a Chance

“I understand,” Rafe said. “My grandfather was the same way and he didn’t live that long.”

Mr. Brown added, “After the service today, I can take you with me to pay her a visit. I’ll bring my wife, too, so Mrs. Grainger feels more comfortable with us calling upon her.”

Rafe inclined his head. “Thank you. I’m most grateful to you.”

After sleeping a few hours, bathing, and shaving, Rafe attended the Sunday service to support his new friend, and gave generously to the plate being passed around. Rafe had never been much of a church-goer. Such a luxury proved a difficult feat while mired in war. Still, this little country church held hundreds of years of tradition. Generations had come here. A certain steadiness abounded here. And a bit of peace.

At the conclusion of the service, Rafe remained seated while Mr. Brown spoke with the members of his little flock who needed his attention. When the church emptied, Mr. Brown and his pretty young wife approached Rafe.

Mr. Brown put a hand on the small of her back. “My dear, please allow me to introduce Mr. Beauchamp, who visits every year for All Hallows’ Eve. This is my beloved bride, Mrs. Brown.”

Laughing gaily, Mrs. Brown dropped a quick curtsy. “I’ve not yet grown accustomed to being addressed as Mrs. Brown, but I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Beauchamp.”

Rafe bowed. “The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Brown.”

The lady beamed at Rafe, then turned an adoring gaze to her husband.

A small ember of envy flared in Rafe that this couple had discovered such joy. Would Rafe ever find that measure of happiness?

As they walked to the abode of the woman Rafe hoped would give him answers about Osanne and her family, they chatted easily. Overhead, a few stubborn leaves of red, gold, and orange clung to bare branches that reached to a cloudless autumn sky. A few birds who had not yet fled the coming of winter trilled their songs. Strange how autumn had become such a beautiful time of year.

Strolling along with his wife’s hand tucked into his elbow, Mr. Brown gave Rafe a curious look. “Forgive me for prying, Mr. Beauchamp, but what, may I ask, is your interest in the Jewell family?”

Rafe paused. He dared not tell them he had met and formed an attachment with the ghost of one of the Jewell family members. They might declare him mad and ship him off to Bedlam. “I have an interest in history, if you’ll recall. It’s not confined to ruins.”

Mrs. Brown smiled impishly. “And you’ve heard tales of the ghost that haunts Ravenswood Manor?”

Rafe kept his tone and his expression benign. “I have heard the tale, yes, but that is not my sole interest.”

“Very well,” Mr. Brown said. “I won’t press you. Ah. Here we are.” The vicar gestured to a thatched cottage surrounded by a crumbling rock wall.

A young maid with disheveled hair and dark circles under her eyes let them in. She caught Rafe staring at her red and blistered hands and quickly hid them in the folds of her apron tied askew around her thin waist. She led them to a tiny dark parlor with no light except that which came in through the single window. Rafe blinked to adjust his eyes.

The maid addressed a bundle of blankets sitting in a chair between a grimy window and a smoking fire. “The vicar and his wife and a...friend are here to visit you, madam.”

“Ah, how nice of you to call,” creaked an old woman’s voice. “Do come in.”

The vicar introduced Rafe, and the woman graciously greeted him. “Shall I ring for tea?”

Mr. Brown took one look at the clearly overworked maid and politely declined. The maid bobbed a curtsy and left them.

“Please be seated,” Mrs. Grainger said.

They exchanged pleasantries, then the vicar mentioned the annual ball at the Great House, a brilliant segue to Rafe’s area of interest.

“Did you know the family who owns Ravenswood Manor?” Mr. Brown asked.

“Oh, indeed. Mrs. Jewell and I both married about the same time and became great friends. So tragic.” She shook her head.

“What was tragic?” Rafe asked.

“Their daughter going missing like that.”

“Their daughter?” he pressed.

“Osanne. Such an unusual name. Lovely girl. Very gifted musician. She liked to write songs. She had rather a fondness for daffodils, and her mother had several varieties of the bulbs shipped in to plant in their garden. Pretty flowers, daffodils. Have you ever seen one?”

Rafe nodded. “I understand something happened to her brother?”