Chapter Two

V iolet stared at her uncle. "Are you mad? Do you mean to say you accepted a bet to hunt down a ghost, and by the way, someone is trying to kill you, so you decided to throw a party?"

"And invite all the suspects, yes," he said. "What better way to sort out the innocent from the guilty?"

He is not a retired county magistrate for nothing , she supposed.

"And you have reason to believe one member of the party here wants you dead?"

"They all do," he said. "Well… Maybe not all. Perhaps only one. But… each, other than you, has a reason to dislike me, I think. I could be wrong."

"Uncle…"

"Look. Hear me out, and help me through this little party of mine tonight. I trust you. Then if you don't believe me or want out, you can take a carriage home tomorrow morning with the others. At least you'll be one hundred pounds richer."

"What's this I hear about one hundred pounds?" a male voice asked.

Edwin and Violet looked up. There on the balcony stood a well-dressed young man. In a day suit of green jacket, golden-cream colored waistcoat, and beige trousers, he looked every inch the young rake, ready to dash about town.

"Ah, Mr. Ludlow. Done at the bookmaker's, eh? Looks like you lost your pocket watch," Uncle Edwin teased. "Do join us. I never even heard you coming. But then my old ears aren't what they used to be."

Mr. Ludlow's face was cold for a moment at her uncle's words, then quickly shifted to a smile as he ran a hand through his combed, black hair.

"Griffin, you sly dog, your ears are better than mine, I dare say." Mr. Ludlow crossed the balcony and descended the grand staircase. "Now, who is this lovely, young woman and where can I pick up my one hundred pounds?"

"All will be explained at dinner," Uncle Edwin said. "Violet, meet Mr. Albion Ludlow. Ludlow, my niece, Miss Violet Thorn."

They bowed and curtsied to one another. "Charmed," Mr. Ludlow said.

Edwin said, "Violet, I suspect you'd like to freshen up before we eat. If you go up the stairs and through the corridor, your room is the third on the right, at the end of the hall. Mr. Ludlow, would you be so kind as to show my niece the way?"

"It would be my pleasure." Mr. Ludlow extended a hand for her to precede him, and she walked up the stairs. The more gentlemanly thing would have been for him to offer her his arm, but never mind.

It wasn't long before Violet felt eyes on her. She glanced back at Mr. Ludlow, who was glancing at her bottom. Meeting her eyes, he smiled at her sheepishly and raised his gaze to her face. "This is a lovely house," he said. "Rather Gothic."

"Yes. My uncle likes it. How did you two meet?"

Mr. Ludlow's grin widened. "Looking after the old man, eh? We met at the racetrack. He likes a good bet, your uncle. He remembered me from long ago—he once picked me up for theft as a child, but I've since changed my ways. Anyway, we got to talking about the horses and he's a jolly good chap, so he invited me up for the night. I didn't think it would be so dark and dreary, though. It's enough to scare anyone."

They crossed around the balcony and entered through a narrow, curved doorway that opened to a long corridor. The corridor was lit with small candles dotting the walls in between aged portraits, but at the very end of the hallway stood a woman.

She was tall and wore a rustic patterned shawl, like what one might see a peasant woman wear, or a mystic. She looked like some sort of Romani fortuneteller out of legend. Even though she must be at least fifty feet away, there was no mistaking her hard stare.

Violet stopped in her tracks. She and the woman stared at one another, and Violet felt a chill run down her spine as if a breath of cold air whispered against the back of her neck. The air in the corridor felt chilly, and damp, as if she stood somewhere dark.

"Miss Thorn?" Mr. Ludlow said.

"Yes?" Violet turned to look at him.

"You are distracted."

"What?" She looked back at the woman, but she wasn't there.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm fine. That woman scared me."

"What woman?" He gave her a blank look.

"You didn't see her?" she asked.

"Where?"

"At the end of the corridor. I… Never mind." She gave him a polite smile, which was all the encouragement he needed.

"Don't worry. Your eyes are likely playing tricks on you. Especially in an old house like this—it's a wonder there aren't ghosts roaming the halls."

Her eyes narrowed. He didn't believe her. Her hands began to curl into fists, and she stopped. What if he was right? She'd never entertained the possibility that ghosts might exist. But what if they did?

He chatted with her as they approached her door. "Well, here we are." He looked at her invitingly.

"Yes, thank you." Opening the door, she stepped inside. "Good day." She quickly shut the door in his face.

There was a small snort of laughter and his footfalls retreated. She leaned against the door with a sigh. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? The woman had stared at her. Her stern look had chilled her blood. Maybe Mr. Ludlow had just happened to be looking elsewhere at the time. That must have been it.

Violet surveyed her room. It was a charming room, with blue-and-white wallpaper, shelves in the closet, and a small table that would serve as a writing desk and vanity space, which currently held a washbasin filled with water. It was a pretty room, with a small, narrow bed made up with a pillow and a white quilt and coverlet. A framed picture of painted silks hung on the wall. The desk faced a window that would let in the natural light, or it would when it wasn't pouring with rain outside.

The sky had turned from a light, misty grey to dark charcoal, and as Violet peered through the windowpanes, angry rainclouds hung overhead. The rain pattered outside, tap-tapping at the window.

Violet unpinned her sodden purple hat and set it on the floor. It was dripping wet, and she looked at the sorry state of it. She must have looked a fright when she'd first arrived.

There on the table was a small looking glass. She held it up and peered at her reflection, which was a sorry state indeed. A speck of mud had hit her left cheek, and she wiped it away with a damp glove. Tendrils of her blonde hair were plastered to her face, and she took a clean towel from the bed and wiped her face and hair dry.

Once she'd peeled off her traveling dress and hung up her coat, she changed into a fetching evening dress of light pink and purple, with a slim skirt and lavender sash, around the waist of a comfortable purple dress with a round bodice. With her hair dried and newly arranged in a bun, but with wispy tendrils to hang by her ears, she thought she looked presentable enough.

She went downstairs and met the others of her party in the main drawing room. The room was large but comfortable, with rich, deep sofas and wide, cushioned chairs, whilst a grand fireplace had a fire burning merrily inside. She nodded to the lady present, a well-dressed woman in an expensive-looking blue dress and expertly arranged hairstyle, along with Mr. Ludlow and Mr. Fairbanks, and crossed the room to the fire, holding her hands to it for warmth.

A quick bit of movement caught her eye. She turned and part of the bookshelf began to slide open. She grabbed a poker and brandished it in the air. "Oh, my lord."

The lady screamed, and the gentlemen fell over each other.

The wall opened to reveal…

"Miss Eagle. Whatever are you doing?" Mr. Fairbanks asked.

Miss Eagle practically bounced into the room, giggling on the arm of Uncle Edwin. "Hello, everyone. So sorry if I gave you all a fright. I knew this place from when I was a child and thought I recognized the sliding wall panel that opened to a secret passage. I met dear Mr. Griffin and thought we would surprise everyone with a grand entrance. Sorry." She grinned at Violet and fingered the locket around her neck. "I don't think a poker is necessary."

The ladies uttered little laughs, and Violet turned pink as she returned the poker to its proper place. Mr. Fairbanks came to her side. "Quick thinking. You held that thing like a rapier. Have you ever fenced before?"

"No. Are you offering lessons?"

He laughed his warm, rich laugh and winked at her.

Mr. Ludlow brushed himself down as Uncle Edward began introductions.

"You all know me. This is my niece, Miss Violet Thorn," said Violet's uncle as he introduced the men. He nodded to the older woman in the room. "Violet, this is Mrs. Margaret Hemlock."

"What a singular name you have." Mrs. Hemlock smirked and gave Mr. Fairbanks a coy smile.

The ladies curtsied to one another. Violet took in Mrs. Hemlock's rich, brunette hair with strands of silver, the thickening of her middle, and sunspots on her cheek. She didn't care for Mrs. Hemlock's slightly amused tone at her name or the way she looked at Mr. Fairbanks. It was almost predatory.

"And you," said Violet. "Like the poisonous plant?"

"I should ask you if you cut deeply, considering your surname," the woman said, her eyes steely. She was a feisty brunette with a temper, no doubt due to her unfortunate surname.

"Ladies, please. We are here for one reason," Mr. Fairbanks said. "To cheer our good friend Mr. Griffin for his party."

"Yes. About that…" Mr. Ludlow glanced at Edwin. "Did I hear a little bird say something about—"

Edwin held up a hand. "All in good time." He finished making introductions, after which there was the ringing, dull peal of a gong. "Grand. Let's eat. That's the dinner gong." He led the group into a large dining room that could easily have sat twenty but had been set for six.

As the group took their seats, Miss Eagle asked, "There are five of us. Who is the sixth setting for?"

"The ghost," Uncle Edwin said mysteriously.

Mr. Fairbanks shook his head slightly. Mrs. Hemlock snorted. Miss Eagle's eyes widened, whilst Violet rolled her eyes and Mr. Ludlow cocked his head.

The first course was a stodgy, thick, potato soup seasoned with garlic and parsley. This was followed by roast lamb with mint sauce and boiled potatoes, and a strawberry trifle for dessert. Once the guests had dined well, the men and women separated for a few minutes, leaving Violet in the company of the Misses Hemlock and Eagle.

In the main drawing room, Violet sat in one of the large, plush chairs and sank into its delicate and overstuffed green cushions. It was stuffed enough to be comfortable, and not too much. She could easily see herself spending an afternoon sitting and reading.

"So what is your uncle about?" Mrs. Hemlock asked. "What are we all doing here?"

Violet looked up. "I assume you received a letter?"

"I did. But just with a vague invitation. I've only ever met your uncle once. Why am I here?"

Miss Eagle cocked her head. "If you only met him the one time, why did you come?"

"He's rich, and I'm bored. I recently became a widow and I wanted to leave Town for a spell. I've been trying to decide between two suitors and I can't make up my mind. I thought a little jaunt in the country would be diverting." Mrs. Hemlock touched her hair, patting her brunette waves that dangled over her shoulder.

"Suitors. Oh, tell. I love romances," Miss Eagle said.

Violet snorted softly and rose from her chair, crossing the room to the wine decanter that sat off to the side. She helped herself to a glass of red wine and drank. It wasn't very tasty, but it would take the edge off of the evening, and make Miss Eagle and Mrs. Hemlock tolerable, she supposed.

"I don't see you talking about beaus, Miss Thorn," Mrs. Hemlock said.

Violet reddened and set the wine stopper back in the bottle. "That is because I have none."

"Oh, you poor thing," Miss Eagle said. "But I don't understand. You're so pretty. Why are you unchaperoned?"

Mrs. Hemlock gave an unladylike snort. "That is no great mystery. Our Miss Thorn is not a debutante, but a spinster." She eyed Miss Eagle's maid sitting quietly in the corner with some knitting.

Violet felt her ire rising. "I am not. But if I were, better to be a spinster than a middle-aged harpy with too many suitors."

Mrs. Hemlock laughed. "Do not lie, Miss Thorn. We will be much thrown together in this party. Lies don't become you. Perhaps you are a spinster by choice, but I doubt it. I rather suspect it is your personality that the men find unattractive. And your parents have already given up on you, which is why you did not travel with a servant. Unless they were unable to provide you with one? No. No good upstanding family would let a young woman travel alone, unless… She was no longer worth the concern. It's a pity. No doubt that is why you keep eyeing Mr. Fairbanks."

Violet turned. "That's not true. I've had beaus before."

"Like who? Name one," Mrs. Hemlock challenged.

"Now, now, ladies. Let's not fight. Not when we have business to discuss," Edwin said, leading the men into the drawing room.

Violet and Mrs. Hemlock exchanged a glare, and both looked away.

Once they were all gathered and sat comfortably, Edwin said, "The reason I called you all here is a little bet I made with a chum of mine. He believes this house is haunted."

"Really?" Miss Eagle asked, her eyes wide.

"Ha." Mrs. Hemlock tossed her head. The effect shifted her dangling brunette tresses from her shoulder to her back, which, considering the low-cut scoop bodice of the red dress she wore, attracted no small amount of male attention. She shot Violet a triumphant look.

Violet glanced away and said, "Go on, uncle."

"Yes, well. My friend believes the house is haunted by a real ghost and bet me five hundred pounds that I couldn't spend the night without running for the hills."

"So you invited us?" Mrs. Hemlock asked.

"Yes. What better way to do it than to throw a party?" Edwin smiled. "I thought you all might like the chance to do some ghost-hunting with me and earn a bit of prize money."

Mr. Fairbanks's eyes widened.

"Oh, yes. Did I forget to mention? Whoever stays the night here, the entire night, will receive one hundred pounds tomorrow morning. But of course, you will have to stay the entire time. Otherwise, you won't receive a cent."

"But ghosts aren't real," Mr. Fairbanks said.

"Aren't they?" Miss Eagle asked.

"I think it's a jolly good idea," Mr. Ludlow said.

"Bit of an expensive party," Mrs. Hemlock said.

Violet surveyed the others. Could her uncle have been right? Could one of the people here be wanting to kill him? To do him harm? She couldn't be sure. But she loved her uncle and would do her utmost to help him, even if it just meant surviving the night.

Violet spotted the group's dubious looks. "I'm going to stay," she said.

"Ah, yes, that is the first question," Uncle Edwin said. "Who would like to stay, and who wishes to go? For anyone who does not wish to stay the night, there is a carriage outside waiting to take them to the nearest inn."

Miss Eagle gazed at Uncle Edwin with wide eyes and a shy smile, whilst Mrs. Hemlock eyed both Mr. Ludlow and Mr. Fairbanks.

Uncle Edwin cleared his throat. "If you do wish to stay the night and help me prove there are no ghosts here, then you will each receive one hundred pounds."

People paused. Mr. Ludlow whistled. "That's a lot of money."

"What happens if some of us leave and others stay?" Mrs. Hemlock asked. "Does that mean we'll get the money the others forfeited?"

Edwin thought on this. "Yes, I suppose so. The five hundred pounds will be divided equally between you."

Violet swallowed. What would prevent one of the guests from encouraging or scaring the others enough to leave to take their share of the prize money? Violet crossed her arms over her chest, earning a curious look from Mr. Fairbanks.

His blue eyes were kind, she decided. His complexion was fair and comely, with dusky, soft-blond hair that was combed back into waves, but it had the suggestion that when he ran his hands through it, the smart waves would become unruly. Violet idly wondered what it would be like to run her hands through his hair and blushed.

"Miss Thorn? Are you well?" Mr. Ludlow asked.

The others looked at her.

"Quite well, thank you," she said, avoiding Mr. Fairbanks's eyes.

Uncle Edwin checked the small timepiece that hung from an inner pocket in his coat. "It is getting late. If anyone does wish to go, please say so now, or forever hold your peace." He looked at each guest in turn, appraising them.

At that moment, there was a high, whistling moan that sent shivers down the spines of the party. Miss Eagle shrieked and clutched her locket, Mrs. Hemlock froze, whilst Violet gripped the arms of her large seat.

"What was that?" Mr. Ludlow asked, looking around wildly.

"It was nothing," Uncle Edwin said. "Merely the sounds of an old, creaking house."

"Mr. Fairbanks, I'm scared," Miss Eagle said, hurrying to his side.

Mr. Fairbanks glanced at her and said, "I think it was just the wind."

"Maybe it was the ghost," Violet added.

Mrs. Hemlock shot Violet a petty look. "I imagine Miss Thorn knows all about ghosts."

Violet glanced at her. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Hemlock's mouth curved into a snide smile. "You probably do a lot of reading in your spare time. For a young woman like you without a beau, or any hint of one, I imagine you're quite the authority on the supernatural." She giggled.

"Mrs. Hemlock, that was uncalled for," Mr. Fairbanks said.

"Oh, my, I'm sorry. My mouth runs away from me sometimes. You will forgive me, won't you, Miss Thorn?" Mrs. Hemlock's voice was syrupy sweet and her brown eyes seemingly sincere. Far too sincere.

"Of course, think nothing of it," Violet uttered with stiff politeness.

Mrs. Hemlock simpered and looked at Mr. Ludlow. "Well, I'm not going out again in that rain. I traveled hours to get here. I'll take myself to bed and collect my money in the morning, thank you."

"You are very welcome to do so," Uncle Edwin said, "But you'll miss out on all the ghost-hunting."

Mrs. Hemlock waved a hand airily. "As ghosts don't exist, I doubt I'll miss much."

"Well, I don't want to stay. I want to go home," Miss Eagle pouted. "Ghosts or not, I don't like it here."

"Very well. I'll call the servants to prepare your things." Uncle Edwin crossed the room and pulled the bell pull.

In moments, a servant appeared, looking a bit damp and disheveled. "Yes, sir?"

"Miss Eagle won't be staying." Uncle Edwin turned to the lady's maid, who looked up from her knitting. "You'll need to pack up her things. She'll leave within the hour."

"Yes, sir."

Miss Eagle went to supervise the packing of her bags whilst the others chatted amongst themselves. Lightning flashed outside, great, bright flashes that lit up the dark evening sky.

"It's miserable weather, this," Mrs. Hemlock declared. "I'd be rethinking my decision to go if I were Miss Eagle."

Thunder boomed outside, and Miss Eagle and her maid came downstairs to say goodbye. Miss Eagle wore a pretty straw bonnet and her beige traveling cloak. As she curtsied to them all, a manservant knocked and entered the room.

"Yes, what is it?" Edwin asked.

The servant looked harried and glanced at the others, then the windows outside. "Begging your pardon, sir, but the bridge has washed out. It's like a lake out there. There's no way the driver can see to drive the horses safely. It's not safe to travel." He looked apologetic.

"You mean…"

"No one's going anywhere," Uncle Edwin said as lightning flashed through the window behind him.