The Madmen of Beldon Hall Read online

  Chapter 3

  “This is it!” Byron whispered excitedly as he steered his rental SUV through Beldon’s gates. It bounced as it carefully traversed over fallen branches and large cracks in the paving. More of the manor revealed itself and Byron wiggled his shoulders as they tightened and the hairs on the back of his neck stood. Moss clung to walls, steps and statues and the steps of the courtyard and the entrance to the main hall were overgrown with grass and weeds. Only a few of the house’s windows were broken, most were still dressed with limp and tattered curtains. Beldon itself sat filthy and sinking, its once golden limestone bricks now grey and crumbling. Byron’s heartbeat picked up when he came around the last turn and spotted three large vans and two black Jaguars in the courtyard. Men dashed in and out of the doors to the main hall as Lord Waldeford’s militant assistant chased them. Byron thought she was delightful. She was stern and had a brisk and efficient manner that probably terrified people. It took a lot more than a strict old lady to scare Byron off. He’d spent the first eighteen years of his life in orphanages and foster homes, he’d seen every type and endured just about everything a person could inflict on another short of losing a limb or getting murdered. Byron had been bit, stabbed, sliced, scratched, punched (so many times), pushed and nearly drowned. He’d even been shot in the shoulder by a foster brother. He could handle a tiny, cranky matron.

  Lord Waldeford was an entirely different matter. Byron’s first meeting with Waldeford left him flustered and distracted for days. Instead of a dried out old aristocrat, Waldeford was tall, incredibly fit and commanding. And ridiculously hot. He was one of those darker gingers, his hair was closer to brown and his complexion was fair and clear. Severe yet captivating ice blue eyes and thin, wide lips haunted his dreams. Byron couldn’t find him as he parked and he did his best not to search as he approached Mrs. Canter.

  “What’s all this?” He asked as men carried boxes, bins and crates into the manor. Mrs. Canter looked up from her iPad and glared at him.

  “I want his lordship to be as comfortable as possible so we’ve prepared as best as we could.” She turned and charged into the hall and Byron dodged a large man with massive pillows tucked under his arms. “I’ve arranged to have caterers deliver food twice a day,” she announced as they were swallowed by darkness. It took Byron’s eyes a moment to adjust but he could smell damp, dust and mold as he scanned the large hall. Most of the furniture was shrouded in covers and cobwebs and the plaster and paint was chipping away from the walls. His eyes followed the once grand staircase to a wide gallery and the tall, high windows and gardens beyond. Everything was overgrown yet bare against the grey winter sky. Evening was bearing down on them and the wind was beginning to pick up. “I don’t know why we couldn’t wait for electricians to inspect the house so we could have the power back on,” Mrs. Canter complained as she counted the black trunks stacked along the walls.

  “The generator will be enough to keep the essentials running,” Waldeford murmured and Byron spun and found him leaning against a giant hearth as he swiped at his phone’s screen. “I don’t intend to keep the electricity on when we’re done and I don’t want the extra people going through the house,” he said and Byron felt a tickle of warmth as he appreciated Waldeford’s three day beard. It was a slightly brighter orange than his hair and it made his square chin and jaw even more defined.

  “This is way more than I was expecting,” Byron said cheerfully as he looked up and tried to distract himself with the ornately painted ceiling. The colors were once bright and the images crisp and lifelike but were now muted by dirt and more cobwebs. They clung to the intricate woodwork around the room and shivered in the breeze as the last of Waldeford’s supplies was brought into the main hall. Everything was neatly stacked and arranged but nothing had been opened, no one had ventured beyond the main hall. “I’ve got a sleeping bag, a tote bin full of books and paper and a couple of duffle bags,” he added and Mrs. Canter’s upper lip tugged at the corner as she fought off a sneer.

  “His lordship is accustomed to a certain standard and I see no reason for him to sacrifice his comfort on your behalf,” she scolded and Byron winced.

  “I’m accustomed to just making the best of it. But I’m grateful for his help and I’ll do my best to make him as comfortable as possible while we’re here,” he promised and her eyes tightened as they studied him.

  “Are you sure I can’t stay, my lord?” She asked loudly and there was a sigh from Waldeford.

  “No. And it’s about time for you to go. I don’t want you on the road when this storm hits. I have the list and can find what I need, you’ve numbered and arranged everything perfectly,” he murmured and she twisted her fingers anxiously as her eyes darted around the hall.

  “If you need anything…” She said and Waldeford shook his head as he pushed away from the fireplace and waved at the door.

  “You’ve thought of everything. I’ll probably be more comfortable here now than I was as a child,” he stated and her eyes became more tender as she reached for his arm and squeezed it.

  “You don’t have to do this,” she whispered and Waldeford slid Byron a flat look.

  “Apparently, I do,” he drawled and Byron grinned and reached to comfort her but she scowled at him. He held his hands up as he took a step back.

  “This is such an amazing opportunity and the intellectual treasures we’re going to find will be great publicity for Waldeford,” he insisted and both Canter and Waldeford looked skeptical.

  “I think you’re really overestimating how much anyone’s going to care,” Waldeford said and Byron shrugged.

  “It can’t hurt, right?” He said and Waldeford glanced over Byron’s shoulder at the hall behind him.

  “I’m not so sure.” His face was taut and the muscle in his jaw twitched before he turned back to Mrs. Canter. “Off with you. We’ll be fine. I’ll call you in the morning to see how things are going in the office,” he said as he guided her out the door. They watched as the last of the delivery men left and the doors were shut behind them. The darkness closed in around them and was held at bay by two camping lanterns on the long table in the center of the hall. Within minutes, the estate was once again abandoned and silent around them except for the whistling of the wind as it slipped through the broken windows. Byron exhaled loudly as he rubbed his arms to warm them.

  “I guess I’ll go and grab a sweatshirt and then you can show me where the journals are,” he said and Waldeford shook his head.

  “I have no idea where they are. Let’s figure out where we’re going to sleep and start unpacking whatever we need for the night. We’ll get the generator running tomorrow,” he suggested and Byron’s brows fell.

  “What do you mean you don’t know where they are?” He asked and received a hard stare.

  “It’s been over twenty years since I’ve laid eyes on Beldon. And it wasn’t just Bede’s journals that came to Beldon Hall. There were two monasteries in the area that were being dismantled during the Dissolution under Henry. Much of their movable treasures and property were smuggled to Beldon before they could be seized by the Crown. I was shown those journals when I was nine or ten and I had absolutely no interest in them. I can’t remember where I was at the time, just that it was here,” he explained and Byron groaned as he pushed his hand through his hair.

  “Fine. Let’s get unpacked,” he said as he looked around. “Do you want to check out the bedrooms and see if we can find two that are decent enough?” He asked and Waldeford shook his head as he turned up the light on one of the lamps and pointed behind Byron. He was a little stunned by the mattresses and piles of bedding against the wall. There were two sets and Byron felt another tremor of excitement. He was still sleeping on an air mattress in his apartment. It was actually rolled up and in his duffle bag.

  “I don’t want to see any more of the house than I have to. I’ll sleep here in the hall,” Alastair said as he picked up the other lantern and made it bri
ghter.

  “That’s probably a better idea anyway,” Byron said as he hurried to the hearth then bent and twisted so he could look up the chimney. “This looks pretty clear, actually,” he called as he found a rusted lever for the flue. He had to put his weight against it but it opened and he stepped back as leaves and twigs were dumped into the fireplace. “And we’ve got kindling! I’ll see if I can find some firewood or an axe,” he said.

  “Don’t bother,” Waldeford said as he picked up a chair from the end of the table. He raised it above his head then swung and the seat cracked as it slammed against the stone floor. Waldeford snapped the back over his knee then tossed the pieces into the fireplace. “Burn everything, I don’t care,” he said and Byron’s jaw fell as he stared. Aside from the shock, it was really sexy. But also a little concerning.

  “Alright, what happened here that made you afraid to return? Why did you lock it up?” He asked and Waldeford shook his head as he opened a case and found a coat.

  “I’m not afraid, I just don’t want anything to do with this,” he said dismissively but Byron tilted so he could see his face.

  “Why did you lock it up?” He repeated and Waldeford sighed loudly as he turned and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “You’re a historian, I’m sure you’re aware of my family’s past,” he said and Byron snorted.

  “The whole “Madmen of the Manor” thing?” He laughed. “Most of those stories were probably exaggerated and distorted over time. And there hasn’t been any talk of madness for years,” he said and a large but rueful smile stretched across Waldeford’s face.

  “My father was the maddest and cruelest of them all. He was just better at ruining people’s lives if they gossiped about matters here at Beldon,” he said and Byron’s eyes widened.

  “Is that why you never came back, after you left for Eton?” He asked and Waldeford’s eyes became distant and cloudy as they reached beyond the hall.

  “I didn’t come back because there will never be a day that I can walk out those doors and not see my mother’s body beneath a sheet in the front courtyard,” he stated and Byron hissed as he gripped Waldeford’s shoulder.

  “I did read about your mother’s suicide. I’m really sorry,” he said and another dead grin pulled at Waldeford’s lips.

  “My mother didn’t kill herself,” he said and the blood drained from Byron’s face. Waldeford laughed as he slapped him on the back. “Welcome to Beldon Hall, Granger. We’re going to get a hell of a lot of mileage out of that confidentiality agreement,” he declared and Byron swore under his breath as he felt a tremor of concern.

  “If that’s the case, you should probably go ahead and call me Byron.”

  Chapter 4

  The hall felt more like a luxury camping site than the grand heart of the estate Alastair remembered from his childhood. He was comforted by how little it resembled the house he fought his way out of in his nightmares.

  “This steak and ale pie is amazing,” Byron groaned then shoveled another spoonful into his mouth. Alastair nodded then looked over his shoulder at the sound of a door slamming above them followed by three soft thuds. “What was that?” Byron whispered and his eyes were huge as they darted around them. Alastair shrugged as he turned his attention back to his plate.

  “This house is haunted by more than just bad memories and scandals,” he muttered as he pushed a pea to the top of the mound of mashed potatoes.

  “You’re joking, right?” Byron asked then jumped when the window rattled as the wind beat against it. Alastair shook his head as he set his plate on the floor then fell back on his mattress and rested his hands on his chest.

  “Four servants have disappeared and two were found hanged. One from the gallery and one from the Hawk Tower,” he said as he watched a piece of wallpaper by a window flap gently in the draft.

  “Maybe the servants ran away. Maids and footmen quit all the time,” Byron argued and Alastair’s lips pulled tight as he let his head fall to the side, in his direction.

  “You misunderstand. They didn’t fail to turn up in the morning. Maggie Gilbert was polishing silver in the pantry with the butler and when he returned from finding them more rags, she was gone. I was four at the time and I remember servants turning the estate inside out and riders searched the dales for days. She never left that pantry, it was the middle of the afternoon and the house was busy, someone would have seen her. The butler was the last person to see her alive.”

  “There has to be a reasonable explanation,” Byron argued and Alastair snorted.

  “I can assure you, there isn’t,” he said and Byron frowned as his mouth closed around his empty spoon. He scowled at his plate then set it on the floor.

  “What if they found her and whatever happened was just too disturbing to explain to a child? You might not know the whole story. Are you going to finish that?” He asked as he pointed at Alastair’s plate and he shook his head. Byron quickly scooped the food into his mouth but his eyes never left Alastair as he listened.

  “That’s definitely not the way I was handled as a child. My father’s pride and joy were the stables. Whenever the feral cats got out of control, he’d charge me with drowning them,” Alastair recalled flatly.

  “Oh, God!” Byron cried as he shivered. “You didn’t,” he insisted and Alastair nodded.

  “Of course I did. I tried refusing once and he held my head under the water until I stopped thrashing. CPR is not enjoyable for the recipient, especially if you’re a small child,” he explained and Byron looked ill as he hugged the empty plate.

  “I’m so sorry, Alastair,” he said gently. His name sounded so different, with Byron’s American habit of saying every syllable correctly. Alastair liked it.

  “Needless to say, I was not sheltered from the truth as a child.”

  “What do you think happened to her?” Byron asked and Alastair stretched and twisted his neck as the muscles tightened and a cold knot formed in his stomach.

  “I don’t know. I got sucked into a closet once and I think I would have vanished too if my tutor didn’t find me right away,” he said and Byron almost glowed, he was so pale.

  “You got sucked into a closet?” He repeated shakily and Alastair nodded. He hated thinking of it but he could finally explain to Byron what he was risking for Bede’s precious journals.

  “I heard a laugh and opened the door to see if someone was hiding. There were never any other children at Beldon but I swear I heard a little girl laughing. It wasn’t like getting pushed or tripping over the threshold. I was sucked into the closet and it felt like I was caught in the middle of a cyclone. Wind pulled at my hair and clothes and my skin started to sting and burn. It was so loud, I couldn’t hear myself screaming. Then, everything stopped and my tutor yanked me out of the closet. My clothes were shredded and there were cuts all over my upper body and face,” he said.

  “Holy shit,” Byron whispered and Alastair snorted.

  “Unholy shit, I’d wager,” he said. Byron’s lips twisted as he considered.

  “Maybe you imagined it or dreamt it. How old were you?” He asked and Alastair blinked back at him.

  “I was ten. And I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of having an imagination,” he replied.

  “I’ve read that Beldon Hall is supposed to be cursed but I couldn’t find an explanation,” Byron said and Alastair chuckled.

  “I believe the answer to that might lie with those journals. Well, not just the journals,” he corrected. “The long ago Waldeford who was entrusted with the journals and other monastic treasures was one of the last good Catholics in the family line. He made sure the journals were bound to Beldon Hall because at the time, there was no way to be certain they’d ever be safe in a church again. He was less specific about everything else. Within a few generations, everything that could be melted down, was. Many of the Waldeford estate’s jewels and priceless decorative objects were made from monastery treasures and relics,�
�� he said and Byron whistled.

  “I guess that could cause several generations worth of bad luck,” he said. Alastair nodded then chewed on his lip.

  “How long have you been in England?” He asked. He could feel his body becoming heavier and he needed a mental break from the house.

  “Just a little over two months, this time. I’ve been all over Britain and Europe for research trips,” Byron said as he got to his feet and collected their plates. “The first thing I did when I landed in London was take a train out here so I could see Beldon,” he added and Alastair frowned.

  “I truly don’t understand that,” he said simply. “Do you have someone back home? Is there a girlfriend waiting for you?” He asked and Alastair stopped scraping their plates into the trash. He was still for several moments before he shook his head.

  “I don’t have anyone waiting. And I’d much rather have a boyfriend,” he admitted carefully and Alastair’s brows rose and there was a giddy burst of warmth.

  “Ah,” he replied casually despite the tightening of his body.

  “Why isn’t there a Lady Waldeford yet?” Byron asked as he crawled onto his mattress and Alastair snorted.

  “I haven’t much use for ladies either,” he said and Byron froze before he lowered and hugged his pillow. “Unless I’d like to get an heir but I’m fine with letting the line end with me,” Alastair said.

  “I’d like to have kids one day. I’ve never had a family,” Byron said then yawned and Alastair nodded.