Secret Reflection by Jennifer Brassel Page B

the story. He was a lad when his grandfather first spoke of it. Now,’ he leaned forward in his chair and caught her gaze in his hazel stare, ‘I cannot say whether it be true or not, because it is one of those tales that’s been handed on and handed on – and the telling always changes the story somewhat, but rumour had it that a young viscount, John Tarrant, had committed murder and was killed in revenge. Another story said he committed suicide in remorse but the laws being what they were, the land and titles would have gone to the Crown so the cousin needed to fabricate another tale or lose his inheritance.
    ‘The papers don’t say which, of course.’ He leaned back in his chair and resumed his steeple-fingered pose. ‘Officially, John Tarrant is said to have drowned, but you’ll find that detail in any of the surviving documents.’
    ‘What do you think happened?’ Kelly urged.
    ‘I’m not sure of anything, mind you, but greed being what it is – I’m fairly convinced that the young viscount died at another’s evil hand. Whose hand, is the question. The records mention an account by the valet, and the cousin Ditchley, who inherited. But as far as I could find there was no burial and the body was never found. Some say he escaped to the colonies after the murder. Whatever did happen, the ghost hasn’t revealed it to anyone thus far.’
    Kelly shifted in her chair, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Does that mean you believe the ghost really exists?’
    To this he gave a short and throaty laugh. ‘Young woman, no man can live in a town like Abingdon all his life and not believe in ghosts. I once, in my teens, ventured toStanthorpe to take a look for myself, but alas I timed my visit wrongly and missed the appearance by some weeks. April of ’41, as I recall.’
    ‘Have you ever spoken to anyone who did see the ghost?’
    Barnsley’s eyes seemed to cloud over.
    ‘There was a boy about seventeen or eighteen – a distant relation of the owner … ’81 the year. After two nights in the master suite he ran off in terror. The father said he’d been smoking those “maryana” drugs we always hear about, so proclaimed the boy’d been hallucinating. Put him into a sanitorium, I believe … don’t know what happened to him after that.
    ‘If you’ve a mind to speak to him,’ Barnsley began sifting through some of his papers on the desk, ‘I think I noted his name here some place or another.’
    ‘Thank you, it might be helpful.’ She glanced down at her list of questions. ‘While you’re searching, is there anything you can tell me about the current viscount?’
    Barnsley’s eyes darted up. ‘Don’t know that there’s anything of interest there. From what I hear he is the kind that gives the peerage a bad name – always carousing and womanising. I dare say he hasn’t worked a day in his short life and had some pretty big debts before those hoteliers stepped in with their offer. Nice pair. Will probably do a sight more for the place than the Ditchleys ever did. Aha!’ he dragged a slip of paper from the pile and held it up before her. ‘Knew I wrote the lad’s name down somewhere. Here we go …’ he squinted at the scratchings on the page. ‘Michael Babcock. Must be late thirties by now. The father’s name was Eric Babcock … a cousin of young Ditchley’s mother, Laurel. Family lived near Northampton. Not titled, but fairly well-to-do, shouldn’t be too difficult to track them down.’
    ‘Do you know what happened to Tarrant’s cousin Edward?’ Kelly’s curiosity couldn’t let her leave before she knew.
    ‘Strange tale, that one,’ he rubbed a temple with a bony finger. ‘After inheriting Stanthorpe, he married Tarrant’s intended and she bore him a son. Rumour had it that Ditchley beat his wife mercilessly throughout the short marriage. Not long after the birth, she apparently lost her mind and in a murderous rage, killed Ditchley. Her family stepped in and had her placed in