Chapter Three

I n that flash of lighting, Violet surveyed her fellow party's faces. Mr. Fairbanks's brow was furrowed, Mr. Ludlow pursed his lips, whilst Mrs. Hemlock's snide smile had disappeared. Miss Eagle looked dismayed and bit at her nails. Her maid's hand darted to her mouth.

"No! No," Miss Eagle said. "That's not possible. It's just a little rain."

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's not safe. We couldn't risk it," the servant said. "I'll tell the other one."

"What do you mean?" Edwin asked. "What ‘other one'?"

"Your other guest, sir. The one who's poking around in the attic." The servant blinked rapidly.

"What?" Violet stared. "There's someone else here?"

"No, there isn't," Uncle Edwin said. To the servant, he said, "Explain yourself. If this is a joke, it is in poor taste."

The servant looked from one guest to another. "I don't know what you mean, sir. There's the other guest of yours, the woman in the attic."

"There is no other guest," Mr. Fairbanks said. "We are the only guests here, all of us in this room."

"Then…" The servant grew quiet. His eyes darted from guest to guest.

"Who is in the attic?" Mrs. Hemlock asked.

The party all stared at each other.

"Well, the servants' rooms are up there, surely," Violet said. "Isn't that usually the case with these grand houses?"

"Yes. Yes, that's right. But there's only a small staff this weekend, as it's a private house party," Uncle Edwin said. "There shouldn't be anyone in the attic." He tugged at his cravat.

"I swear, Griffin, you belong on the stage," Mr. Ludlow said. "What's this nonsense, then? What are you so afraid of? Is it an obnoxious daemon or a pesky spirit lurking in the attic?"

Faces turned to Uncle Edwin, who poured himself a quick glass of brandy. He drank it all and letting out a gasp, set it down with a bit of a tremble. "There is the story old Conway told me… But it's all nonsense, like you say. Ghosts don't exist."

"Tell us the story," Mrs. Hemlock said, "and let us decide. I still don't believe in ghosts, but I do love a ghost story."

Mr. Fairbanks caught Violet's eye. His eyebrows rose and she knew then that they were allies. A note of common sense, or shared intelligence, passed between them. It might only last for the duration of the party, but she felt unconsciously glad to have a friend.

Uncle Edwin leaned against the wall facing them. "The story goes… That not so long ago, and more recently than you might think, there was a woman, a fortuneteller, a spirit medium of sorts, who was the paramour of the owner of this house. Together, they would host little parties and invite anyone who wished to have their palm read and hear about their life. Apparently, she was very good."

Miss Eagle gave an involuntary shiver. "I don't like this." She clutched her locket and edged closer to Mr. Fairbanks. Her maid stood in the corner and hugged her arms to her chest.

Violet glanced at her with slight annoyance and paid attention to her uncle, who said, "But after a while, her predictions were thought to be untrue, and rumors spread that she was a fraud. Her lover forsook her for another woman, and so she cursed him."

"A curse? In this day and age?" Violet asked.

Mrs. Hemlock frowned as Mr. Fairbanks gave Violet a smile. "Come now, Miss Thorn. Surely, that's the method of some spinsters today who cannot get their way."

Violet rolled her eyes and ignored her. Mr. Fairbanks shot Mrs. Hemlock a dirty look, while Mr. Ludlow smirked.

Uncle Edwin cleared his throat. "Well, as it happens, this woman did curse him. He had scorned her, refused her, embarrassed her, and declared rather publicly that they were no more. I think he was embarrassed by the rumors and gossip that spread, so he decided to end their relationship. But she didn't go quietly and instead began to pop up in strange places."

"What do you mean?" Miss Eagle asked.

"Well. Places where he might be, like on his daily jaunt into town, he might see her standing there, watching him from across the road. Or in the shops, but she never came close enough for him to be sure. Once, he even saw her in the corridors here, by the guest rooms."

Violet's voice died in her throat. Her breath caught, and her right hand drifted to her throat. She swallowed nervously.

Mr. Fairbanks looked at her with slight concern, and she gave him a polite nod.

"So she followed him here, to the house," Mrs. Hemlock said. "Rather bold of a spurned woman, wouldn't you say, Miss Thorn?"

"I wouldn't know, Mrs. Hemlock," Violet said.

Mr. Ludlow cleared his throat. "I want to know more. So tell us, old boy. The woman appeared here on the grounds."

"Yes. The owner of the house began to see her everywhere. Standing at the foot of his bed at night or walking the halls. She could even be seen in the attic at times, and if you are in the upper rooms and hear the floorboards creak when no one should be around, it's her. Or so the story goes."

Miss Eagle shivered. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all. Can't we talk of something else?"

Mrs. Hemlock showed no sympathy. "Hush, Miss Eagle. If you do not like it, then amuse yourself some other way. I want to hear the rest of it. Continue, Mr. Griffin."

"Very well. The owner began to go a bit mad, thinking he was seeing her everywhere, so he finally decided to confront his former lover. When he next heard her walking upstairs, he ran up to the attic to catch her, and there…"

Lightning flashed, exposing the anxious faces of the party. Thunder boomed and wind whistled as tree branches rapped against the windows like unwanted houseguests.

Uncle Edwin swallowed. "He found her—dead. She'd killed herself. Hung herself in the attic."

A hush fell over the group.

"How horrible," Miss Eagle said. "But why?"

"Love. She couldn't have him, and he didn't want her. But the funny thing was about her body."

"What do you mean, Uncle?" Violet asked.

"Well, I don't mean to speak out of turn. You ladies may not wish to hear this, as it's not for delicate ears. I wouldn't want to disturb you all."

"We are already disturbed, Mr. Griffin," Mrs. Hemlock said. "Please do finish the story so that we might put an end to Miss Eagle's witterings."

Miss Eagle shot her a hurt look, which Mrs. Hemlock ignored. Miss Eagle's servant frowned at the widow.

"Very well. You see… When a person dies, and forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but their soul leaves the body and their physical form decomposes. As a former member of the constabulary, I have worked with doctors before and have seen the ravages of time on a body once it dies. It is not pretty.

"The peculiar thing about the homeowner's predicament—his discovery, rather—was that when he found his former lover, she had been dead for some time. It had been summer when she'd passed, so in the heat of the summer and being in the attic, the rate of her body's decomposition would have been hastened by the warm weather. The smell alone would have been his first clue that something was wrong."

Mrs. Hemlock's upper lip curled in disgust. "How utterly revolting."

"So what was so peculiar, Uncle?" Violet asked.

"Well, only that he had heard her walking just moments earlier. He had seen her for days and weeks, watching him from afar but never close enough to touch. But when he found her body in the attic, she had been dead for weeks. Killed herself for having lost his love and affection. So you see, that means…"

"That it was not her visiting him at all, but her ghost," Violet said.

Lightning flashed. Miss Eagle pointed at an object behind Violet, let out a little scream, and fainted, falling to the ground in a swoon. Her servant gasped.

"Oh, my god," Mr. Ludlow said.

Mr. Fairbanks immediately knelt and tried to revive her. He patted her cheeks and put a small sofa pillow beneath her head. "Miss Eagle?"

Her servant fussed about her, gathering more pillows until Miss Eagle was propped up by three.

"Fetch some smelling salts," Edwin told the manservant, who quit the room.

"She's faking. Throw some cold water on her," Mrs. Hemlock said.

Violet watched as Miss Eagle's breathing rapidly became steady and even, and in a moment or two, her eyelids fluttered. "Oh, what happened? Did I fall?"

"You fainted," Mr. Fairbanks said. "Are you all right?"

Miss Eagle accepted his hand and allowed him to help her sit up. "I am now, thank you. I don't know what came over me. It was just… I saw the face of a woman staring at me from the window." She pointed at the dark windows. "It was ghastly. Like a horrible spirit, staring. Her eyes made my blood run cold."

The others glanced at the windows. Mr. Ludlow approached them and looked around. "There's no one there. The rain's too heavy—I can't see a thing."

"I don't think there ever was," Uncle Edwin said. "No doubt Miss Eagle has heard enough of the story and thought she saw something."

"But I did, I did," Miss Eagle said, her posture stiff as her maid helped her stand. "Honest, I did."

"I believe her," the servant said quietly.

Mrs. Hemlock cocked her head. "Well, of course you would. It's what you're being paid to do. But in my day, servants were not consulted on their opinions. Seen and not heard."

The maid's mouth withered as if she'd eaten a prune, but didn't speak further.

Mrs. Hemlock smirked and crossed her arms beneath her chest, drawing the men's gazes to her. "Whether you saw her or not is irrelevant, Miss Eagle. Mr. Griffin, am I right in thinking you want us to walk around this old house and find her and spook ourselves in the process?"

"That's the sum of it, yes," Edwin said.

"Well, I'm game. Count me in," Mrs. Hemlock said. "I was going to have an early night, but this is much more exciting than lying in bed with a book."

"You'll play? Excellent," Edwin said. "The story of the walking dead spiritualist hasn't scared you too much?"

"Not at all. I love a cheap thrill," Mrs. Hemlock winked at Mr. Ludlow.

Violet glanced at Mr. Fairbanks as he helped Miss Eagle sit back on the sofa. She sat very close to Mr. Fairbanks. If Violet didn't know any better, she'd think the young woman was practically sitting on his lap. She frowned. Miss Eagle's maid turned her head from the sight.

"What about you, Miss Eagle? Will you join in the hunt for the ghost?" Mr. Ludlow asked.

"Well, I'd rather lie down for a spell, if that's all right. It truly did frighten me," she said. "But I don't want to be alone. My dear Hawkins here is but a small comfort. This old house is scary. Mr. Fairbanks, would you show me the way to my room?"

"Yes, of course." He stood and offered her his arm.

Uncle Edwin said, "Am I right in thinking that the rest of you are happy to join me in this little diversion?"

"Yes," Violet said as Mr. Ludlow nodded.

"Jolly good. There's just one thing to be aware of." Edwin looked at them. "The, er—ghost. If you see her… Well. From the stories I've heard, she is said to be a harbinger of doom. So, um, do be on your guard."

Violet's mouth felt dry. What if the woman she'd seen hadn't been a woman at all, but a ghost?

"And if we see her?" Mr. Ludlow asked.

"Run," Uncle Edwin said gravely.