Redemption Morgan Leshay
Chapter One
A fleeting glimpse—-something white and billowy—- caught the edge of his vision.
Devlin Montaign, Viscount Syndale, squinted into the darkness that cloaked the far wall of the rectory, then jerked upright. He shook his head, uncertain whether he sought to clear his thoughts or his vision. Unless both his eyesight and his mind were deceiving him, he had most definitely seen a ghost.
There was no such thing as ghosts, and such imaginings were simply nonsense, he thought scornfully.
He strained to hear, listening carefully for any sound; any hint of movement but other than the occasional hiss or pop from the fire, the chamber remained silent. The sound of his breathing seemed to magnify in the deafening silence and a chill chased its way up his spine. The urge to shiver grew nigh unbearable with each second that passed.
Rising cautiously from the stiff, wooden chair, making as little sound as possible, he crept stealthily forward toward the rows of bookshelves along the opposite wall. Quietly, he made his way into the part of the room from which the flickering light of the fire could not manage to banish the shadows, where the iridescent apparition had disappeared. Someone or something had been in this chamber, he was sure of it. The thing that disconcerted him, however, was the realization that whoever—or whatever—had been in the chamber was there no longer and they had left the quarters by some exit other than the door through which he had entered.
His gaze sought out every shadow, searching the darkest corners of the room. So intent was he on examining them, he stumbled against the divan that blocked his path to the shelves. Hidden in the darkness that clung to this side of the chamber, the divan faced the fire, as if perhaps one might rest there upon it and read by the light of the fire. A soft, lingering hint of roses teased his senses as he passed it, and his brow furrowed.
There was no one about to use the divan but for Mr. Grigory the overseer and a few retainers, and he thought they were not the type to make frequent use of such a luxurious item. Neither would those few be partial to scenting themselves with the delicate fragrance of roses.
The suspicion grew that all was not as it seemed here. He wondered how long it had been since the Duke had personally visited the property, for obviously there was more going on here than met the eye.
His glance swept back toward the desk and the door, making certain that whoever had been in the room was not, even now, circling around to come at him from behind. There was no one else in the chamber. No sound greeted his ears. No movement caught his careful eye other than the occasional twist or dip of the flame atop the candle that sat resting in the holder on the edge of the desk.
Mr. Grigory bade him wait here, and Devlin had lighted only the single candle on the desk to cast the gloom from the room whilst he waited. The chamber, for the most part, remained cloaked in darkness.
His attention returned to the shelves and he continued his search, for something—anything—that would reveal the spectral visitor’s escape route. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary about the construction of the centuries old shelving, he ran his hands carefully along the edges of each shelf slowly, carefully, looking for something. Just what he was seeking, he wasn’t sure. He’d thought perhaps there might be a catch or latch that he might slip to reveal a secret door or passage behind the bookcase.
Finding nothing, he turned his head to peer about the room once more. Was it possible he had simply imagined it? ‘Twas nothing, he decided, though his fingers continued their inspection of the shelving in front of him. ‘Twas merely a figment of my imagination, brought on by fatigue or lassitude, he rationalized.
Yet the nagging certainty that something or someone had definitely been in this chamber but a few moments ago continued to plague him. Unless that something or someone was of the celestial type, it could not have simply slipped away through the walls. But there was no entrance or exit to or from the room other than the door through which he himself had entered.
Devlin had almost convinced himself that he’d simply been in a half-state of sleep, some vague and distant point between sleeping and wakefulness, when his fingers found an indentation in the otherwise smooth surface of the wood. It was somewhat hidden, a shallow groove on the underside of one of the boards.
He leaned close to the shelving, pressing his fingertips into the indentation he had discovered. A tiny waft of air caressed his cheek and his excitement and trepidation grew apace with each other. He moved his fingers back and forth within the short groove. Click!
The sound was barely perceptible, yet to him it was as loud as the report of a dueling pistol on a deathly cold and quiet dawn. He stood back away from the shelving, not at all certain what to expect.
At first nothing happened. Then he reached out and pushed, and the entire section of shelving moved inward. The soft whir of well-oiled bearings was the only sound as the bookcase slid inward to reveal a long, dark corridor that appeared to stretch endlessly into blackness. He gave a quick, furtive glance both left and right, but saw no windows and strangely, smelled no dust. Apparently the corridor was used frequently, though only high walls of stone and pitch-blackness greeted him. His nose twitched, and his hackles rose as the faintly acrid scent of a recently doused taper tickled his nose. Someone had been in the passage. The otherworldly visitor?
The sudden need to discover the identity of whoever the wraithlike visitor was and what they thought to accomplish by roaming this secret passage within the walls of the monastery plagued him. He wondered idly if Mr. Grigory was aware of the fact that someone was hiding within this passage. Indeed, he wondered if the good man even knew of the passage’s existence.
Devlin stared into the unlit murkiness of the passageway beyond the door he had discovered, wondering just what he should make of it. Secret entrances and exits, and even secret chambers in a monastery were definitely not unheard of, but this one unquestionably bore investigating. Especially since his goal was to acquire this particular monastery as the new permanent location of Syndale Hall…is home.
It puzzled him that he’d been a visitor here many times over the past few years, and not once had he considered that there might be more to the monastery than that which he could see. Something was afoot here, and he wondered what it was.
“She is called St. Valentine’s Angel, you know.”
The voice came from behind him. The hair at his nape stood on end. Devlin spun about, prepared to defend himself. It was the cleric, Mr. Grigory. Sensing he had nothing to fear from the man, he allowed himself to relax…for the moment.
The man appeared nonplused by Devlin’s skittishness or the fact that the hidden portal now stood open behind him. He simply motioned Devlin to join him at the desk in the center of the chamber. Then he took up the taper from the corner of the desk and moved about the room, lighting several more of the tallow candles, which hung in dark cast-iron brackets at intervals along the walls. Finally, he seated himself behind the thick, mahogany desk, placing several long sheets of paper upon the smooth surface of the desktop.
His thoughts centered upon discovering the identity of the apparition, Devlin had all but forgotten the transaction he’d come to complete. He’d spent many months and much coin in his quest to purchase the monastery and suddenly all thoughts fled his mind, save that of the mystery he had stumbled upon within its walls.
Obeying the cleric’s summons, though making a mental note to explore every nook and cranny of the dark, mysterious corridor as soon as his business was complete, Devlin took the single chair in front of the desk and glanced back toward the bookcase. Soon he would uncover the mystery. Excitement rushed through him, and he was unable to resist another glimpse toward the secret door through which the supernatural appearing vision had escaped.
He was about to question the man’s knowledge regarding the existence of the passage when understanding of Mr. Grigory’s earlier words dawned in his beleaguered mind at last. He had said, ‘she’. That meant the ethereal being he had caught a slight impression of earlier was female, did it not? If it was a she, then it had to be human and not a spirit as he had surmised.
“Then she is real?” Devlin asked, settling himself more comfortably in the chair. His enthusiasm for the topic hidden behind a bland look of cool disinterest, he waited patiently, despite the fire of determination burning within him to know all and know it now.
Mr. Grigory smiled softly, peering at him in such a way that he felt suddenly decidedly uneasy. ‘Twas as if the cleric could see within his mind, indeed, into his deepest, most secret thoughts and he did not like even the possibility of it. He looked away, breaking the contact of their gazes. Finally, the man nodded slightly in answer.
“Perhaps,” he said, drawing the word out as if hesitant to speak at all.
Devlin leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Perhaps? What do you mean, perhaps? She is either real or…No, what am I saying? Of course she is real.” He sat back, eyeing the man skeptically. “Isn’t she?”
Devlin’s uncertainty irritated him. He hadn’t believed in ghosts since the tender age of eight, and he had absolutely no intention of reviving that long forgotten belief at this late date. If the ‘angel’ of which Mr. Grigory spoke was not flesh and bone human female, what was she? Who was she? Furthermore, why would she be here, hiding away behind unseen doors in a former monastery?
‘Twas no spirit he had seen, Devlin decided. That he would even consider the possibility it might have been some incorporeal entity was sheer absurdity. The cleric studied him closely for a moment then began to speak, his tone rich with dramatic resonance.
“In the past five years, several have sought sanctuary within the walls of this monastery from the weather or various elements as they passed through the area. A few of those travelers swear to have seen a floating vision in white, a wraithlike spirit who spoke to them concerning matters dear to the heart.”
The good man’s dramatic bend reminded Devlin of the times during his childhood that he and several young boys had gathered outdoors around a fire, each of them trying their damnedest to frighten the wits out of the others. Fighting back a chuckle, he hid his reaction behind a fierce scowl.
“You’re saying this ‘angel’ advises people about love? What nonsense!”
He snorted in disbelief, and the cleric’s brows rose, though his expression of seriousness did not change. He refused to continue the tale until Devlin bade him carry through with it, ridiculous though it were.
MORE TO COME TOMORROW
My favourite book of all times turns 100 years old today. Yep ANNE OF GREN GABLES was first published on June 20 1908. At first her publisher only printed a few thousand copies due to the fact that she was a first time author from a small town in PEI. I have included a picture of her first cover for the book. 
DEADLY SECRETS is now available for pre-orders!