The Black Swan Ghost (#1.5 Penderry's Bizarre)

Chapter Eight

Everyone was polite enough to pretend Millicent's outburst hadn't occurred, but she drank her tea quickly with a desire to go and clear her head. Jim wanted her to explain all the facts about Endymion and Caroline. She told him everything she had seen in her vision and was glad when she eventually made her escape. The atmosphere in the inn was smothering, so she fetched her cloak and gloves from her room, deciding to take some fresh air.

When she came downstairs, wrapped warmly for the cold weather, she stopped at the bottom step and grimaced. The sprig of mistletoe still hung there. Glancing about, she found her friends still in their seats, and no sign of the serving staff. While the coast was clear, she grabbed the plant and threw it behind the nearest table. That takes care of that, she thought with a satisfied smirk.

"I'm in need of a little air," she announced.

"Mind the ice," said Jim.

"Take Jack with you," added Westman.

The dog followed her out into the courtyard, his hot breaths forming clouds. Thankfully, the snow had stopped falling. She paused when she felt someone watching her. Upon turning, she found Endymion hovering on a stack of snow-capped barrels.

"Sightseeing?" he asked.

Millicent looked away. "I am not speaking to you."

He floated off the wooden drums and appeared in front of her. A smile tugged the corner of his mouth. "Ah, now I see. You didn't like my little joke."

"Is that what you call it? How could you?" she snapped.

He sighed and turned away, staring off into the distance. "I'm sorry. I was jealous."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"Amour." He twirled his wrist in the air as if that one French word explained everything.

It didn't.

He turned to face her. "I have had a hundred years to mourn Caroline, to accept that I will never see her again. But I still miss her. Our blossoming romance was cut short, now I envy every flesh and blood man, and every love affair I see."

"Love affair?"

"You and that servant this morning."

Millicent balked, her mouth agape. "What nonsense! There is no amour between us. I am a respectable lady. Why, the idea is preposterous."

"A passionate response."

He was right. The suggestion tied her stomach in a knot and made her cheeks glow hot. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are mistaken. Now please leave me alone. I came out here to clear my head."

He raised his hands in surrender. "As you wish."

Jack bounded across the snow toward the lane and she followed, leaving behind Endymion and the inn. The snow crunched underfoot, her boots sinking, and she lifted the hem of her dress a fraction to stop it getting wet.

"Love affair, indeed."

She hadn't heard such a ludicrous idea since Endymion's biscuit story. She took a few cleansing breaths, emptying her mind. The countryside was a stark canvas of white, broken by the bare and twisted tree branches that stretched into the pale sky. Peace was a welcome relief and she would have relaxed if the cold were not so bracing. The chatter of magpies cut the air and the birds took wing, landing in the naked limbs of a tree. Millicent thought of the children's rhyme and counted the magpies while she walked.

One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy. Five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told.

Dizziness overcame her, and she leaned on the roadside fence. A vision flashed through her mind. Could she never have a moment's peace? The unbidden image invaded her head - a silver key on the floorboards near Endymion's lifeless hand. Morning light shone, and at the open window a magpie landed, hidden now and then by the wavering curtains. It chattered, joined by a second bird then dared to jump inside the room. Warily, it explored the floor, then swift as a pickpocket it grabbed the ribbon tied to the key and flew away out the window.

Millicent pressed a hand to her forehead and steadied herself. Across the field, magpies clustered in the oak. They had a notorious reputation for being scavengers and thieves, and something told her the key was over there. The feeling was too strong to ignore. She found an opening in the fence and entered the white field, sinking to her ankles. The snow was deeper away from the road, and she pulled her foot free, plodding slowly toward the tree-line.

Jack raced by, leaping across the frozen field like a spring lamb over clover, while Millicent had the grace of a new-born deer taking its first steps. At last, she reached the clutch of trees where the snow lay finer. She picked her way over the roots lurking under the layer of powder. Jack sniffed around a holly bush, dotted with bright red berries, and sneezed when snow stuck to his snout. The bare canopy towered above, a writhen tangle of branches, ivy and bird nests. Magpies sat in the crown, making noises, silhouetted against the burgeoning sky.

Please keep the snow at bay, she silently bid the heavens. Searching for the key would be difficult enough without a wall of sleet to hinder visibility.

Intuition drew her to the broadest oak, and she ran her hands over the bark, feeling the rough and cracked trunk under her gloves. The key had to be here somewhere. Perhaps not around this tree, but nearby. She closed her eyes and focused on the vibrations travelling along the oak and under the ground. A clear image formed in her mind of the magpie taking the key to its nest. A simple nest that could not have survived the winds and rainstorms of time.

She looked up into the tree tops. The nest could have been anywhere. And the key could have blown to the ground, buried beneath a century's worth of leaves, dirt, and now snow. It was hopeless. But she looked aloft once more, pulled toward an ordinary looking tree limb. Her gaze fixed on the juncture where the thick branch veered from the main trunk. She squinted, unsure what she expected to find.

From her position on the ground, she saw nothing unusual. No nest. No key caught and dangling from the winding twigs. However, there was something important up there. Her intuition was rarely wrong. She assessed the oak and the surrounding smaller trees. Yes, it was climbable. She would try, at least, before trekking back to the inn to ask for a ladder.

She glanced around to make sure no one witnessed her unladylike behaviour, then gathered her cloak around her arm and hoisted herself into a neighbouring ash tree. There were plenty of foot and hand holds, and she carefully climbed the ash, freeing her skirts whenever they snagged. It was no easy feat, crossing from one tree to the other, but she made it across and clung to the oak, shivering. When she looked down, her heart thumped under her ribs. It was higher than she expected. The ground pitched and swayed, making her lightheaded.

"Oh lord," she mumbled and closed her eyes.

With a deep breath, she fixed her attention on the fork in the tree, and edged closer, gripping a sturdy limb for balance. When she reached the split, she lowered herself to a crouch and stared in wonder.

"I don't believe it."

A hollow recess in the trunk disappeared into blackness. She peered inside, holding a branch for support. With her free hand, she reached in, hoping she didn't encounter an angry squirrel or startled woodpecker. Her fingers brushed dry leaves and acorns, and she raked through the debris, freezing when she touched something small and solid. She picked it up and excitement swirled in her stomach when she raised the tarnished piece of metal to her eyes.

There it was. She held a key between her finger and thumb. The key.

Just then, a deep scream erupted below and someone charged at the tree. Her heart leapt to her throat. Flashes of long tangled hair and matted sheepskin appeared in her mind, blinding her. Neolithic man. Stone age.

Before she could see the apparition's face, the branch in her hand snapped and she toppled out of the tree. A frightened cry escaped her throat before the ground knocked the breath from her. Pain shot through her back and head, and the snowy field tilted on its axis. Then day turned to darkness.