Dreams of Idlewood

  Dreams of Idlewood

  Book Two

  Idlewood Series

  By M.L. Bullock

  Text copyright © 2016 Monica L. Bullock

  All rights reserved

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Victoria Danielle, a true Southern belle.

  ONCE AMID THE ROSES

  Once amid the roses bright,

  Ruby-red, honey-sweet,

  You and I, in laughing weather,

  Sang a lay of love together;

  Petals falling on our feet.

  When shall summer be so light?

  Never more!

  Oh, never more!

  Once beside the snow-drops, drear,

  Waxen pale, wintry cold,

  Grief and I, in wailing weather,

  Sang a dirge of tears together;

  Raindrops dripping on the mould.

  When shall winter be so drear?

  Never more!

  Ah, never more!

  Jane Dixon

  1883

  Prologue – Michael

  Mobile, Alabama

  1873

  Michael didn’t need the black enamel walking stick with the silver wolf head, but he carried it just the same. A young man of only nineteen, he was very conscious of his appearance. He detested being called the “young master of Idlewood” or the young anything. He considered himself an “old soul”; an old soul who had the misfortune of experiencing youth. Besides dressing like a gentleman and carrying his father’s walking stick, he’d grown a beard and mustache. Some of the local gentry still sneered at him, but they would learn to show respect, eventually. Yet for all Michael’s attention to the smallest of details, from the placement of the buttons on his jacket to the precise length of his trousers, he still struggled with feeling like an impostor. (He would never be the oldest.) But he worked diligently at hiding such a ridiculous notion from his family and the local gentry, for he was truly lord of all at Idlewood.

  Father was dead. The thought brought a small smile to his face. How his death had shocked the old man! Fortunately he died before he could berate his son for killing him so inauspiciously. Michael declared himself to be his heir and, with Percy missing, so he was. Michael had changed his own destiny by the sheer force of his will. He wasn’t going to let anything deter his trajectory now—his star rose high. No, nothing would stop him.

  Especially not his drunk of a brother.

  Percy had never been much of a man. He read poetry to his sisters, obeyed his father’s every word, even to the extent of marrying Aubrey, a woman he had not chosen for himself. Percy doted on Tallulah in life and mourned over her in death as if she had been his wife and not his twin. Michael often suspected something incestuous between them, but he’d never witnessed anything provocative or untoward. The truth was Percy and Tallulah were probably the only two people in the house capable of loving anyone, but they’d loved only one another. Michael had been fond of his youngest sister, Trinket, but she had been perpetually frightened of him and yet he’d never harmed her. She was the only one he missed. The only one he cared for in the slightest. He felt somewhat relieved by her disappearance. Love made one weak.

  Here he was again, rescuing Percy from yet another embarrassing situation. But it wasn’t an act of love or kindness on Michael’s part. No, he had other reasons for coming to pull his brother out of another bottle of whiskey.

  Fortunately, the owner of the barn where Percy had been found half-naked and unconscious was an acquaintance of the family. For a few coins, the man would keep quiet and the Fergusons could avoid any further scandal. With Tallulah’s suicide and Trinket’s disappearance, Michael considered that a plus. If only he had no siblings whatsoever. Then he could tend to his mother and Aubrey as he pleased without the need for keeping up appearances. Mother angered him with her refusal to say anything evil against Percy, even when he had shamed the Ferguson name to such an amazing degree.

  And Aubrey? She deserved to be punished for choosing to marry the drunkard. She’d chosen poorly.

  The carriage came to a slow stop, and Edward LaGrange, his right-hand man and associate, scurried out. Edward was a self-made man, and Michael admired him although his mother detested the sight of him. They were more like brothers than he and Percy had ever been. Both were equally determined to make a name for themselves and come up in the world, and both had been second sons. Michael and Edward wouldn’t hesitate to do whatever was necessary to reach their goals. In fact, they’d made pledges to do so, both with the Creel Society and with one another.

  In a few minutes Edward returned with Percy in tow. Michael noticed with amusement that his brother’s clothing had been soaked through, likely from a pail of water tossed to awaken him from his stupor. Percy struggled to get into the carriage, but neither Edward nor Michael assisted him. Finally he slogged inside and the carriage door closed behind him. The drinking had cost Percy his handsome looks. He was thin now, thinner than even Bridget, who took to fasting far too frequently. Percy’s once shiny, golden hair appeared dirty and long, very much in need of a haircut. His clothing was unkempt, he’d lost his jacket and he smelled as if he had not bathed in a week. The odor of stale whiskey permeated his unwashed skin, and the air hung heavily with it. To show his disapproval and perhaps to embarrass Percy further, Michael pressed a handkerchief to his nose. The handkerchief belonged to Aubrey. Percy did indeed spy the monogram but said nothing about it. In fact, no one spoke as the carriage rolled along and slowed some fifteen minutes later.

  Michael glanced at the ginger-headed Edward as he departed the carriage, then gave Percy a smirk. “Brother, if you want to kill yourself, there are far easier ways to do it. Why embarrass our family, embarrass our mother and sister, with this unseemly behavior? Not to mention Aubrey. But why do I bother? It is all over now.” Through red eyes Percy squinted at Michael but offered no explanation. Typical Percy. He was accountable to no one and loved no one, except Tallulah. The sound of a boat whistle surprised him, and the vacant look on his face faded. Suspicion appeared.

  “Where are we?”

  Michael leaned forward on his walking stick, his black coat draped neatly behind him over the leather jumper seat. “The time has come for this to end, brother. Tonight you leave Mobile. You may go anywhere you like—Atlanta, Jacksonville, even Scotland if you wish—but you will not return to Idlewood.”

  Percy wiped his face with a shaky hand. “What are you talking about?”

  “It’s time to pay. Time to pay for the bad things you’ve done.”

  His brother swallowed and with a hoarse voice asked, “What bad things? Are you going to kill me, Michael?”

  His brother laughed at him. “Oh, that would be too easy. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? And you know what I speak of. It was a long time ago, but blood doesn’t wash away that easily.” Percy didn’t argue and Michael continued, “I have taken the necessary steps to cut you off, as they say. In fact, you aren’t to use the Ferguson name again. From now on, you will go by Mother’s maiden name, Sinclair. There, doesn’t that sound suitable, Percy Sinclair? It’s all done. Legally, I mean. Since you want death so badly, you are now officially dead. Dead to all of us.”

  “What have you to gain, Michael? You have it all now!”

  “As I said, it is time to pay.”

  Percy’s eyes filled with tears. “I had no choice. I had to protect her.”

  “Tallulah is dead now and beyond your protection. In the end, your sin meant nothing. It bought nothing. It saved no one.”

  “Take me home, Michael. No more games.”

  “Oh, this is no game.” Michael inched toward him, leaning deeply on the stick. In the moonlight, the wolf head flashed and gave an ev
il glint. “Don’t make a scene. Edward has gone now to secure your passage aboard the ship. When he returns you will leave my presence. Forever.” He tossed a leather packet beside him at Percy. With clumsy fingers Percy untied the leather string and pulled out a document and a stack of money.

  “What is all this?” He blinked in the dark. The coach lamp flickered.

  “It is a legal document disallowing you any future funding, except for this one-time dispersal of cash. I think you’ll find it more than generous.”

  “A dispersal? Have you lost your mind? Take me home, Michael.”

  “Pay attention. Time is short now. You are disinherited, Percy. As I said, you are dead to us all. Including Aubrey.” Michael couldn’t help but smile. He hadn’t intended to bait his brother on this point, but he couldn’t resist.

  Percy’s face whitened and he licked his dry lips as he stared at the bundle of bills. “You can’t do that. I am a grown man and our father is dead. You have no authority to disinherit Bridget or me. Mother would never allow this.”

  That made Michael smile. Yes, now was the moment he’d been waiting for. The moment he could reveal to his brother his long-awaited plans. “Yes, yes I can. You see, Mother has seen the light. She agrees with me. You are a disgrace. She blames you for what happened to Tallulah. There are even rumors that Trinket was stolen for ransom because of your gambling debts.”

  “That’s preposterous! I have never gambled in my life!”

  Michael continued as if Percy had never spoken, as if he were dead and gone already. “And Mr. Quigley gathered all the testimonies he needed to satisfy the district judge. Judge Calhoun was shocked. How did he describe you? Ah, yes, ‘an unscrupulous rabble-rouser.’ You abandoned your family, abandoned your wife. Abandonment is a crime, sir. I have been appointed the official Ferguson heir now.” Footsteps crunched in the leaves as Edward approached the carriage but didn’t enter. Michael had no doubt that he was smiling in the dark. It was good to see the Second Brothers of the Creel Society claim what was theirs tonight!

  “Quigley would never betray me, and Mother would not agree to this. What have you done to her?”

  “No worry for Aubrey, then? Ah, well. Poor girl. Now get out of my carriage.”

  “What? I am not going anywhere, brother.”

  Michael’s anger flared, and with sudden ferocity he whacked his brother across the arm and shoulder with the wooden stick. Percy groaned and slumped to the floor. He whimpered and clutched his arm as he stared up at Michael with hurt, fearful eyes.

  Ah, yes, I will always remember this moment.

  Unwilling to wait any longer, Edward opened the carriage door and snickered at the sight of Percy lying at Michael’s feet. Without a glance upward, Michael leaned down, his dark eyes narrowed with a serious expression. In a flat voice he said, “If you return to Mobile, I will kill you. Don’t think I won’t know. I have friends everywhere, Mr. Sinclair. If you contact anyone at Idlewood, I will kill you. If you ever show your face again, I will kill you. Get out of my carriage. This is your last warning, Mr. Sinclair.”

  Looking defeated, Percy stumbled out of the carriage. Edward’s leather-clad hand closed the carriage door behind him, and no other words were spoken. As the carriage pulled away, Michael tossed the flurry of currency out the window. He didn’t give Percy another look. He leaned against his walking stick to calm himself. Edward narrowed his eyes and grunted. “You know he’ll come back. You’re just putting off the inevitable. It would have been wiser to kill him. Tidier.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I didn’t think you would.”

  Edward grunted again and leaned back in the seat. “Are you insinuating that you are smarter than me?”

  “It’s no insinuation. I am. But let’s not fall out over that small point. I think it is time to celebrate. What say you, Edward LaGrange? Are you in the mood to indulge yourself?”

  Edward’s face flushed with excitement. In a quieter voice he said, “You know who it is that I want, Mr. Ferguson. There’s only one indulgence that will please me.”

  Michael sat back easily now, his back slumped a little. The confrontation with Percy had exhausted him, and that surprised him. He suddenly had no desire to celebrate, beyond a few glasses of sherry, but he had to keep his right-hand man happy. And if what Edward wanted was in his power to give, why not? Besides, a union between the Ferguson and LaGrange families would please the Creel Society to no end. No doubt his mother would strongly protest such an “unsavory union,” but who would listen to the ravings of a hysterical woman?

  “And she shall be yours, my friend. In the fullness of time, she shall be yours.”

  With a grin Edward shook his hand awkwardly. For the rest of the journey the men remained quiet, staring out their open windows into the dank Alabama night.

  They’d both gotten what they wanted.

  At last. Michael had everything he wanted.

  Chapter One – Carrie Jo

  “Detra Ann Devecheaux, you owe me big time for this,” I griped to the blond beauty while I pulled at the off-the-shoulder ruffle of my ridiculously fluffy blue dress. I’d tripped over the hem of the hoop skirt twice, and I hadn’t even left the room yet. I prayed to God that I would survive the trip down the spiral staircase. Detra Ann’s solution to my current wardrobe malfunction was to tighten up the silk ribbons at the waist, so now I couldn’t breathe either. At this point, I was pretty sure she was trying to kill me.

  Rachel looked equally unhappy, and who could blame her? Of the three of us, she had the ugliest ensemble…and that was saying something. Her bodice fabric was a dingy floral print with yellow-orange and brown flowers paired with a dull, mustard yellow skirt sporting an oversize bow that drooped from the front of the hem like a sad pet. At least I was just a big pile of blue satin ruffles.

  Detra Ann sparkled, as always, in her raspberry pink dress. It was a hoop skirt like ours, but it didn’t have the extraneous embellishments ours had. And somehow, she made it look beautiful. Her gown had a simple cut with a modest bosom and a smooth wide skirt. I suspected that my outfit and Rachel’s weren’t merely luck of the draw, but then we weren’t all the same size. That’s what I told myself anyway. No way would my close friend purposefully lace me up in this joke of a dress.

  Naturally graceful, Detra Ann moved liked she was born to wear three-tiered petticoats. Her perfectly arranged coils dangled down her back elegantly while my naturally curly hair puffed out from my antique ivory barrettes like two big cotton balls thanks to the Mobile humidity. It was fall, so wasn’t it supposed to be cooler now? Why hadn’t I thought of wearing an updo? It was too late now, though. I didn’t have time to make that kind of change-up. Half of the Historical Society was waiting for us downstairs in Idlewood’s front parlor.

  “Are you sure these outfits are historically accurate, Detra Ann? They’re pretty horrible. Except Carrie Jo’s. I wish I’d picked blue,” Rachel pouted, her dark eyes disapproving of what she saw in the mirror.

  I laughed. It was either that or cry, and my eyes were watery enough. For the past few days my nose had been running like a faucet. I believed it was from the changing of seasons, the pollen or something. Perhaps I’m just allergic to this dress. I took a daytime allergy pill to offset the mucus and hoped it kicked in soon. “Please, girl. I look like a hydrangea bush, and the three of us look like a trio of over-the-hill Azalea Trail Maids.” Well, we weren’t that old, but I wanted to distract Rachel from her unhappy mood. It didn’t work.

  “And what color would you call this skirt? Dijon mustard?” Rachel frowned into the mirror as she blasted a few random wisps of dark hair with hairspray. “I’m convinced someone robbed an old couch to make it.”

  “I think you two look lovely.” We both paused fussing over our final touches to shoot her synchronized dirty looks. She relented with a sigh. “Okay, I agree, Rachel. That is a god-awful dress, but you are beautiful no matter what you wea
r. And Angus is going to love it! He is going to meet you at the garconniere. That’s where you’ll tour tonight. Keep to the script and you’ll do fine.”

  Rachel paused and stared at Detra Ann from the mirror. “Wait. Angus is here?”

  “Yes. Was I wrong to invite him? I thought you two were, you know, getting cozy. And we needed a man to play the part of the bachelor. I mean, what’s an old bachelor pad without a bachelor in it?” Detra Ann pretended not to notice Rachel’s irritability. My assistant seemed on edge lately, despite the progress we’d been making on the house. It had been six months since we’d uncovered the truth about Tallulah and Trinket, and we had since quietly laid their bodies to rest together on holy ground.

  With nothing else to distract us we’d worked our magic on the front parlor, the conservatory and the aforementioned garconniere. The antebellum bachelor digs were only about fifty feet from the house, but it was nearly windowless and had an odd tower like the kind you’d see in a castle. It seemed an odd feature, and one could argue it was a forbidding place, but so far I had not experienced anything negative in there. Rachel was much more sensitive to things than I was, though. Most of the time I only dreamed about the dead; she could actually sense them. And from the get-go, it was clear she was not too thrilled about this idea. During our planning meeting she’d muttered something about the outfits being triggers for spirits, but she refused to talk more about it. She’d been out of sorts ever since we began working on the idea, and with my own stuff going on, I couldn’t bring myself to pry. Besides, if she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. She knew I had an open-door policy. Especially for her.

  Yes, Rachel was a sensitive. She often felt things before they were ever seen, smelled or dreamed about.

  She plopped in the gilded cushioned chair and said, “Okay, I’m just putting it out there, but I’m not comfortable going to the garconniere. There is a presence in there, and not a very nice one. I’ve seen this thing a few times, both in the house and in the tower. It, he, well, whatever it is is evil.” She shivered thinking about it. “And to make matters worse, whenever Angus is around, it shows up. Almost every single time! It’s like this Shadow Man has it out for him, or Angus attracts it for some reason.”