The Vanishing at Loxby Manor, Abigail Wilson [best value ebook reader .TXT] 📗

Piers touched his forehead as he stared one at a time at the five square stones encircling a pile of ashes. Clearly bewildered,he dropped his arms at his sides and paced across the yard. He stood at the base of the ancient abbey wall and yelled back,“It must have been a beast to move, but someone has done it.”

I hurried over to where he was standing. “Moved what?”

“The notorious drifter.” He pointed to a statue perched at the edge of the wall.

My mouth fell open as the inkling of a memory sparked in my mind. “The statue!”

“Then you do remember.”

I ran a hand down the cold, chiseled stone. “A little. The ghost had something to do with the sculptor?”

“It is believed that one of Kinwich Abbey’s resident monks set to work on this very statue. What inspired his sudden artistryis left to conjecture as he was never able to finish the face—a patron saint perhaps, or Richard the Second; various rumorshave persisted over the years, some darker than others.”

Perhaps it was the emotive stillness of the crumbling walls or the unsettled fingers of the wind, but when I peered up atthe faceless form of centuries long past, an explosion of nerves cascaded down my legs, followed by an unnatural yet inescapableurge to step away.

Piers took my arm. “It’s still looks as devilish as I remember it. Something about that empty space where a face should be—”

“Yes, I . . .” I stepped away from his touch, escaping to the center of the courtyard. “It must have inspired your father to make up that horrid story.”

He followed me across the tangled grass. “As I said, the story was not entirely fabricated. Turns out the statue really didfall on the monk while he was working on it. He was killed, which is why it remains unfinished to this day. No one dared totouch it after that. In fact, years after the monk’s death, the villagers came to the abbey to move the wretched piece atlast, but somehow the statue fell again, mangling a man’s arm in the process. Ultimately, the abbey was abandoned and thestatue forsaken where it lay in the courtyard . . . until—”

“You mean, someone had the nerve to stand the awful thing back up and perch it in the groove of the wall of all places? Howdid they even get it over there?”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea. It must have taken several people. And I cannot credit such a strange decision. It almost looksas if whoever moved it meant for the statue to preside over the courtyard. See how it glares at us.”

I fought back a shiver. “All I know is I don’t like it. They should have hauled it away from here and disposed of it.”

Piers gave a little laugh. “Don’t tell me you still believe the story of the ghostly monk? He’s bound only to come out atnight, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not that.” I glanced once again at the hollow curve of lifeless stone, the shadowed emptiness wherea face should reside but didn’t. Beat by beat the sound of my heart thrashed into my ears. Driven by a cruel imagination,a cold pair of eyes and a long nose took shape on the stone facade. My legs felt weak as my mind filled in the details wherethe artist had left off—bit by bit my attacker from Ceylon emerged in the stone.

I stumbled backward, and Piers’s arm appeared to support me. His voice sounded tight as his eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we should move into the shade for a moment.”

I nodded, and he helped me onto the remains of a stone floor in the shadow of the one remaining wall and knelt at my side.“Are you well, Charity? I keep getting the feeling something is wrong, and I don’t mean Seline’s disappearance.”

I could read the question in his eyes, the candid tenderness of a life of shared experiences, the love we had never reallybeen able to explore, but now was not the time to disclose what had happened. I could hear my mother’s voice in the depthsof my mind. “Hush, Charity. You must never speak of this again. Your very respectability is at stake. Besides, such a thing makes people terribly uncomfortable.”

My throat felt thick. Indeed. Such a shocking revelation would do nothing but change things between Piers and me forever.I shook my head.

He settled into a seat at my side, his arm brushing against mine as he moved to adjust his jacket. The familiar urge of closenesstickled my skin, but the last thing I wanted from Piers was pity or even affection, for that matter. Hadn’t I made myselfclear from the start? I only wanted to be left alone.

I inched away from him and pressed my hand to my forehead. “I got a little overheated is all. I was thinking about Selinecoming out here alone so late at night.” It sounded plausible. It was why we were here, after all.

He glanced about. “The place is quite changed from the last time I was here. See those stones there.” He pointed to the centerof the courtyard. If I remember right, they’ve been moved as well.”

“They look like they could be seats.”

“And the fire—I daresay Avery has been using the abbey as a meeting place. See how the whole thing is arranged?”

“But why would he do so?”

“Privacy? Entertainment?” He shrugged. “Either way, I intend to find out.” He pushed to his feet, then placed his hands onhis hips, his eyes trained on the statue. “I shall ask him straightaway, and this time, there shall be no change of subjector conscious evasion. I have no time for anything but the truth.”

I rose beside him. “Piers?”

He placed his arm against the wall, and I felt rather small beside him, tucked as we were in the corner of the old abbey.Piers had always possessed a sort of commanding presence wrought by his early maturity and a deference few could manage. Ithad been intoxicating in my youth, but I’d not